


The Place You Are

by pippinmctaggart



Category: Top Gear (UK) RPF
Genre: Banter, F/M, Gen, Humor, Romance, Work In Progress, brain injury fallout, denial is a river in egypt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2008-08-08
Updated: 2018-03-18
Packaged: 2018-12-03 01:25:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 40,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11521635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pippinmctaggart/pseuds/pippinmctaggart
Summary: Pip starts her new job as assistant and minder to Jeremy, James, and Richard, and is rather thrown in at the deep end. And James buys some cheese.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> AU-ish, in that Richard's wife & family don't exist in this verse. He has, however, still had his accident. Also, I should probably warn for Jeremy Clarkson in general.
> 
> Having never been to Dunsfold or worked on a tv production, I've had to make up an awful lot of the business side of filming. Please forgive any glaring idiocies.
> 
> Heartfelt thanks to @foxtales for the beta, and for playing in my universe with me every time I begged. Much love, bb.

Andy walked into the portakabin, a red-headed woman trailing behind him. "Pay attention, you lot," he said shortly. "Since you insist on acting like children, you now have a babysitter." He pulled the rather nervous looking young woman forward. "This is Philippa. You may not make your usual idiotic demands of her. She has the right to refuse any idiotic demand you _do_ make. She has the right to run any demand past me first, so don't even try. She has the right to give you a proper bollocking whenever you deserve it. She has the right to shout at you, herd you, reprimand you, manage you, bully you, and pretty much do anything she wants to, short of actually murdering you."  
  
He looked down into her wide-eyed face. "Much as they like to think otherwise, they _are_ replaceable. However, it's a pain in the arse, so we'd rather not have to. Do your best to avoid homicide, yeah?"  
  
Philippa--a head shorter than Andy, pale, a bit on the overly plump side--nodded rapidly.  
  
Andy returned his attention to the three men sitting around the table, cups of tea now forgotten in front of them. "Any questions?" he barked.  
  
Jeremy opened his mouth.  
  
"No," Andy immediately said. "Anyone else?"

James cleared his throat. "What precisely is her job function? Philippa." He glanced at her apologetically. "Philippa's job description? I think it's important to clarify that up front--"  
  
"Assistant talent--and I use that word lightly--coordinator. Her job is to try and keep you sods from chucking your toys out of the pram and to get you where you're supposed to be on time. Any other questions? No? Good."  
  
Andy had one foot out of the portakabin door before turning back to add, "Oh, and Clarkson? Try not to reduce this one to tears on her first day." With a slam of the flimsy door, he was gone.  
  
Philippa clutched her clipboard to her chest. "It's--it's a pleasure to meet you, gentlemen. I hope--"  
  
"Good God, you're not _American_ , are you?" Clarkson demanded. "I won't have my tea being made by an American."  
  
"Shut it, Jez," Richard spoke for the first time. He turned a pleasant smile on Philippa. "Have you seen the show before?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"So you have at least some idea what you've gotten yourself into?"  
  
She nodded. "Some, yes. And for the record, Mr. Clarkson, I'm Canadian, not American. And I'm quite good with tea, actually."  
  
"Canadian," Jeremy repeated, looking suspicious. "You're not going to polite us to death, are you?"  
  
"Don't worry, Mr. Clarkson, Canadians can be every bit as rude as you Brits." She said it sweetly.  
  
James glanced at Richard, amused. "A hit," he murmured.  
  
Jeremy huffed. "We'll see about that. I won't coddle you, girl; if you're to be our minder, you'd better do it properly. What kind of car do you have?"  
  
"At the moment, none," she answered, sounding like she'd been expecting the question. "I only just arrived in England two weeks ago."  
  
Richard raised an eyebrow. "How are you getting here?"  
  
"Bicycle," she explained succinctly.  
  
"Not another one!" Jeremy groaned. "First Hamster, now our bloody babysitter. This is a fucking _car_ show, and I'm surrounded by gits on bicycles!"  
  
"I do intend to buy a car as soon as I can," Philippa said quickly. "I might need some advice, though, considering you have very different models over here."  
  
"Porsche 987," James said.  
  
Richard snorted. "A 987? Are you mental? She should go with the 911 all the way, the Carrera Cabriolet."  
  
"Don't be stupid," Jeremy said. "Mercedes-Benz SLK."  
  
James rolled his eyes. "Fine, if she wants to look like a middle-aged arsehole trying to look like a 30-something ponce."  
  
"Not true," Jeremy argued. "I have one, and it's dignified, but with a bit of pizzazz, too."  
  
"I rest my case. And no one says 'pizzazz' anymore, Clarkson."

"Women look fantastic in the 911," Richard averred. "Just think of it, Jez--Kristen Scott Thomas--"  
  
"She's still not forgiven."  
  
"Fine," Richard sighed. "Fiona Bruce, then. Picture Fiona Bruce in a gorgeous little dark blue Carrera Cabriolet, sunglasses on, the wind in her hair..."  
  
Jeremy looked thoughtful. "You do make a good point, Hamster."  
  
"I've always sort of wanted a Land Rover," Philippa offered.  
  
The three men stared at her, until Richard laughed. "I think I'm going to like you."  
  
"Okay, maybe not a Land Rover," she smiled. "Actually, I'm going to have to set my sights on something a bit more modest than a Porsche or a Land Rover. They don't pay babysitters the way they used to."  
  
"Fiat Panda," James promptly said. "Excellent fuel mileage."  
  
"Ford Escort," Jeremy decreed. "After all, she's certainly _not_ Kristen Scott Thomas, is she?"  
  
Shocked, James sharply said, "Jeremy! Don't be a pillock."  
  
Richard was the only one to see Philippa's face just before she looked down at her clipboard.  
  
"What? I merely suggested--"  
  
"Shut it, Clarkson," Richard snapped. "Figure it out."  
  
"Well," Philippa said brightly, not looking up. "Andy told me the most important things to organize for tomorrow, so I have a few questions about tea and cookie preferences."  
  
"Have a seat, Philippa," James suggested, pushing a chair out from the table with his foot.  
  
She sat. "Thank you. And please call me Pip. Only my grandmother ever called me Philippa."  
  
"Pip." Richard smiled. "It suits you. Welcome to our dysfunctional family, Pip. Andy's the dad, you're our new mum, and we're three of the brattiest little shits you've ever met."  
  
She did look up then, and met Richard's smile with a small one of her own. "As long as none of you _call_ me Mum. All right, then, tea or coffee, Mr. Hammond?"  
  
"Jesus! None of that, it's just Richard. Tea, and not decaf, no matter what anyone else tells you."  
  
"What kind? And do you prefer loose or bagged?"  
  
James perked up. "Our last governess only gave us store brand bags. Horrid stuff."  
  
Pip laughed. "And did she make you wear play clothes made of curtains, too? What do you prefer, then? And don't say whiskers on kittens."  
  
"Fusker does have an impressive set of whiskers. Oolong, loose if possible, and English Breakfast. We'll have to find a proper strainer, though. Our last one got used to filter a handful of bolts out of a quart of oil."  
  
"Of course it did. Fusker's your cat, I assume? You should bring a picture of him tomorrow, I'd love to see him." She made notes of the tea selections on her clipboard. "And I'll take care of the strainer, Mr. May, thanks for letting me know. What about cookies?"  
  
"James," he said, pulling at a thread protruding from his cuff. "Here at the heart of the Empire, it's biscuits, not cookies; I can see I'm going to have to educate you in being a proper Brit before Clarkson eats you alive. I like sponge fingers, and oatmeal. Rich likes anything with chocolate."  
  
"And gingersnaps," Richard added. "Plain old orange pekoe will do me, as long as it's strong enough to stand your spoon up in. Loose, bagged, I don't mind either way."  
  
"Wait a bloody minute," Jeremy interrupted suddenly. "I didn't mean it _that_ way, you imbeciles. I do have a sensitive bone in my body, and I don't mean the one under my zip."

Richard covered his face with his hands. "Could you save that shit for her _second_ day at work, Clarkson, you giant arse?"  
  
Pip's knuckles tightened on her pen. "How did you mean it, then, Mr. Clarkson?" she asked calmly, meeting his eyes.  
  
"In the sense that, considering you're likely paid rubbish for babysitting three twats, you're simply not in her league," Jeremy said gruffly, then added, " _financially_ ," to be certain.  
  
It seemed to have done the trick, because Pip loosened her grip on the hapless biro. "Quite true. And what kind of tea would you like?"  
  
"The English Breakfast and pekoe will be fine--proper British tea, none of this poncey Asian piss. And you might want to put up some coffee, dark roast, for when we're all hung over. Usually every Monday."

Pip added coffee to her list. "Anything else?"  
  
"Digestives," Jeremy said.  
  
"Hob Nobs." Richard's face brightened.  
  
"Those are the oatmeal things with chocolate on them, right?" At his nod, she wrote it down. "All right. Anything other than tea and cookies? I mean, biscuits? I am here to keep you happy, after all."  
  
The three men looked at each other and shrugged. "Liquor?" Jeremy suggested.  
  
"I'm afraid I've already been warned not to give you any," she replied, the corners of her lips turning up ever so slightly. "I believe Andy's exact words were, 'not a fucking drop, they already drink the pubs dry as it is'."  
  
"Oh, cock," James said sadly.  
  
"All right, I think I'd better get over to the studio for the staff meeting. Apparently that's where I'll learn everything I need to know." Pip stood up, once more clutching her clipboard to her chest, and cleared her throat. "I'm very pleased to be working with you Richard, James, Mr. Clarkson." She looked at each of them in turn in what was clearly a rehearsed speech. "I'll do my very best to take good care of you, and please let me know if you're unhappy with anything at all. I gladly welcome any and all advice. And..." she faltered. "Well, I guess I'll see you in the morning."  
  
Richard and James both rose to their feet to shake her hand across the table. "Looking forward to it," James murmured politely.  
  
"Have fun, Pip," Richard encouraged. "Don't let Clarkson put you off. And you can call him Jeremy, by the way. Right, you pillock?" He kicked Jeremy's chair.  
  
Jeremy waved his hand carelessly. "Call me whatever you like. It's going to become 'miserable fucking sod' within the week anyway."  
  
"You forgot 'drunken' and 'old'," Richard added helpfully.

  
  
  
The following morning Pip was fussing over the tea things, waiting for the second kettle to boil, when Jeremy entered the portakabin.  
  
"Came back, did you?" he said, his voice sounding very loud in the still room. "Good. Here, you'll need this." He tossed a small black object at her.  
  
Catching it with one hand, Pip saw it was a BlackBerry. At a loss, she stammered, "But--but Andy already gave me my daytimer."  
  
"You haven't a hope in hell of keeping us organised with a bloody book. If you don't know how to use it, get Hammond to show you." He sat at the table and spread his hands out on the surface. "I can't stand the things, the buttons are too small. And May still uses a sodding typewriter. Which tea is mine?"  
  
It was a moment before she pointed to the blue teapot. "That's the English Breakfast. The pekoe will be ready in a few minutes." She unplugged the now-boiling kettle and poured the hot water into a second teapot, a white one with ugly brown flowers and a chipped lid. Setting the kettle aside, she watched as Jeremy poured his tea and added a splash of milk, then took a careful sip.  
  
"You didn't have to do that, you know," she said, indicating the BlackBerry.  
  
"Of course I didn't," he barked, leaning back in his chair. "But believe me, it'll make your life a lot easier, Clarkson, Hammond and May notwithstanding." After a moment, he gruffly added, "Besides, you haven't been here long enough yet for a 911 Carrera."  
  
Pip slowly smiled, understanding. "Thank you, Jeremy," she said as sincerely as she could. "I appreciate that." Turning, she opened a cupboard and took out a biscuit tin; removing the lid, she held it out to him. "Don't tell the others, I'm not supposed to feed you until your tea break later."  
  
Rubbing his hands and giving a gleeful cackle, Jeremy surveyed the contents of the tin for a moment before picking out a digestive and a chocolate wafer.  
  
By the time Pip returned the biscuits to the cupboard and rinsed out the new tea strainer, both of Jeremy's treats had vanished. Just in time, as Richard came stumbling through the door, yawning.  
  
"Tea. For the love of Pagani, someone get me some bloody tea." He collapsed into a chair and propped his head on one hand, his eyes closed.  
  
Wordlessly, Pip poured a cup of orange pekoe, properly dark. When Jeremy pointed two fingers at the sugar bowl, she dropped two cubes in the mug and gave it a stir, before adding some milk at Clarkson's nod. Pushing the mug over to Richard, she wrapped the fingers of his free hand around the handle.  
  
Without opening his eyes, Richard slurped at the hot, strong tea until he'd downed more than half of it. Finally he opened one eye to gaze blearily up at Pip. "Marry me."  
  
She snorted.  
  
"On the pull last night, Hamster?" Jeremy asked loudly. "Hope you wore a condom. You don't want to catch the clap again."  
  
"I've never had the clap!" Richard bellowed, hands gripping his head. "I wish you'd stop telling people that!"  
  
"I hope you at least knew where you were when you woke up this time." Jeremy picked up the BlackBerry and began trying to press buttons with his pinkie.  
  
Richard scrubbed his eyes with his fingers. "I never woke up, because I never went to sleep."  
  
"Careful, there are delicate young ears in the room. Not to mention Flip over there."  
  
Richard raised his head at that and he squinted around the room. "What? Who?"  
  
Pip sat at the table with her own mug and poured herself a cup of tea from Richard's teapot, topping his up as she did. "I can only assume he means me."  
  
" _Flip_?" Richard repeated, then frowned at Pip with bloodshot eyes. "Don't let him even start, or he'll never stop."  
  
She smiled and glanced at Jeremy. "It's all right, I don't mind."  
  
"Hmph," Richard grunted.  
  
"So, who was she? Or he?" Clarkson asked.  
  
"Who?"  
  
"Your reason for being up all night. Christ, maybe we should start calling _you_ Slow. Where is May, anyway?"  
  
"Fuck off, Jez. There was no she, and there was most certainly no he," Richard growled. "It's that goddamned farm. I bought a place in the country a few months ago," he explained to Pip, sounding only slightly less grumpy. "I love it, it's brilliant, but the bloody house inspector was clearly on Clarkson's payroll, because bits of it are falling down around my ears. Last night the water tank went. I was up all night mopping up the mess by bloody flashlight. I finally finished around dawn, just when that fucking rooster started up."  
  
"Turn him into a pie," Jeremy advised. "May will cook it up for you."  
  
"I'm seriously considering that idea," Richard said, looking exhausted and a little morose.  
  
"It sounds like you're having a rough time of it," Pip said sympathetically. "Would coffee help?"  
  
"Oh god, yes. Bless you. Marry me."  
  
Smiling, she rose from the table. "You said that already."  
  
"It must be a good idea if I thought of it twice." Richard laid his head down on the table. "Remind me when I wake up to call around for a plumber."  
  
"Where _is_ May?" Jeremy asked again, looking at his watch. "If he doesn't get here soon, I'm going to write him out of the script. Flip, call his mobile for me, would you?"  
  
Pip finished putting the coffee on, withdrew a sheet of telephone numbers from her daytimer and picked up her new BlackBerry. Her tongue between her teeth, she dialed James's number and then tried to figure out how to initiate the call. It took a moment, but she finally located the proper button. "James?" she eventually spoke into the phone. "It's Pip...Pip. Philippa? We met yesterday... Yes, right. Well, you're due in hair and makeup in less than half an hour, so Jeremy suggested I check that you're on your way. Is everything all right?... I see... Cheese? Well, I--no, no, it's not--sure. Yes, I'll tell him... Okay, see you soon." She found the end button and pressed it, looking bewildered.  
  
"Don't tell me he's stopped at that bloody cheesemonger's again," Jeremy groaned.  
  
"Umm, okay."  
  
"He did, didn't he?"  
  
"You told me not to tell you."  
  
"Lovely, now the office will smell like feet and arse for a week," he complained. "He can't just pick up a good English cheddar, no, he's got to go for that foreign rubbish that reeks from three miles away."  
  
"I'll wrap it up well, and encourage him to eat it outside," Pip said soothingly. "He said he'll be here in about ten minutes, so why don't you head over to makeup, and I'll wake Richard and send him on with James when he arrives."  
  
Jeremy pushed his chair back from the table and rose, looking down at his friend. "No, leave him," he said quietly, and Pip's eyes flew to Jeremy's face. Clarkson ran his hand through his hair, then said, "Since the accident he's had less stamina, not that the stubborn bugger will admit it. When he pushes himself too hard, he pays for it. We'll film May's and my segments first, and do the three of us afterward. It won't matter to the crew, we're just filming on the track. Leave him be for now."  
  
Pip nodded. "Do you think there's anything else like that I should know?"  
  
"Get May to fill you in later. I think Hamster's been more open with him regarding what he's still struggling with. They're quite good mates, really." He suddenly fixed her with a gimlet eye. "You're not responsible for him, but I want you to keep an eye on him. If you have any concerns at all, you will tell James, Andy or I. Understood?"  
  
"Understood. I'll talk to James as soon as I can."  
  
"Good girl, Flip." He turned to leave.  
  
"Jeremy?"  
  
He looked back over his shoulder, one hand on the door knob.  
  
She smiled at him. "Thanks, you miserable sod."  
  
"Piss off," he muttered, and left, closing the door on Pip's chuckle.  
  
  
  
  
James wandered in almost fifteen minutes later with a white plastic carrier bag.  
  
Pip eyed it sideways. "So what did you end up getting? And how pungent is it?"  
  
He grinned. "Clarkson complained already?" At her nod, he looked smug. "Wouldn't be nearly as much fun if he didn't. Last time it was Stilton, and it nearly made him drop to his knees and beg for mercy. This time I bought a lovely little Limburger. Victory shall be mine."  
  
"That very well may be," she said, taking the bag from him and holding it at a distance. "But you're late, and you no longer have time for tea. You're to go straight to hair and makeup."  
  
"Blast," he said, looking longingly at the tea. "Ah well. It will be worth it when Jez is rolling on the floor holding his nose." His glance landed then on Richard, still asleep with his head pillowed on his arms. "Are we letting him sleep?"  
  
"Jeremy said to, yes. He was up all night last night with a water heater emergency."  
  
"I told him not to buy that bloody farm," James frowned. "It's too soon."  
  
"Speaking of which, Jeremy also suggested that you fill me in on what he's still dealing with. It might help to know what to expect or what to watch for. Would that be all right?" she asked. "I don't want to intrude on his privacy, but--"  
  
"No, that's perfectly sensible," James agreed. "You'll see him mostly in his downtime, I should think, and he tends to be less even-keeled than when he's on camera. After we're done for the day, then? Don't leave before I find you."  
  
"Sounds good," Pip replied. "Listen, can you possibly have someone give me some warning before they need him?" She gestured to Richard. "I should get some coffee and food into him before he's expected to be energetic."  
  
James nodded. "I'll tell Andy, he'll take care of it."  
  
"Thank you. Now get going! So far I've only delivered one out of my three charges, which is not my best start ever. Go!" She made shooing motions, shaking her head as James strolled out in as leisurely a fashion as he'd ambled in.  
  
Once the door had closed behind him, Pip heaved a huge sigh and sat at the table across from Richard. She watched him sleep for several minutes, gathering her thoughts. He remained still, his normally spiky hair flat, his face hidden in the crook of his elbow.  
  
"I don't know what the hell I'm doing," she murmured. "And you three are really, really overwhelming. Please tell me I haven't made a colossal mistake?"  
  
There was, of course, no answer.  
  
  
  
  
Two hours later, Pip had tidied up the tea things, put James's well-wrapped cheese in the tiny fridge, explored the few amenities and supplies provided in the portakabin, and figured out how to save phone numbers in her BlackBerry. With James, Jeremy and Richard all having multiple numbers each, Andy and several other staffers she knew she'd need contact with, as well as some general numbers Andy had given her, it took some time to enter them.  
  
Pip decided it was time to go in search of food. She had no idea how long Richard would sleep, or at what point they would call him in for filming, and she did think he'd need a bit of something to get his energy up. On Top Gear, Hammond was nothing if not enthusiastic.  
  
Heading outside and closing the door quietly behind her, Pip went in search of the catering table; she had been informed it was set up daily in one of the offices off the studio. It took her a while to locate the right room, but when she found it, it was the work of a moment to load up a plate with sandwiches, raw vegetables, some cheese and crackers, and some fruit for dessert. She received some funny looks from people she hadn't yet met, but thanks to the pass on a lanyard around her neck, no one hassled her.  
  
Food in hand, Pip returned to the portakabin. Richard hadn't yet woken, but there was a message scrawled on a piece of paper beside his head. She had no clue whose writing it was, but it said Richard should report to hair and makeup at one p.m. She resolved to rouse him a half hour before then so he could properly wake up and eat his lunch.  
  
At twelve-thirty, Pip duly sat down beside Richard with a steaming hot mug of coffee. "Richard," she said, and when he didn't move, she repeated it a little louder. Still nothing. " _Richard_." She put a hand on his arm and gave it a gentle squeeze.  
  
He shifted, snuffled, then buried his face deeper into his arms.  
  
"Come on, Richard, time to wake up," she urged, giving his shoulder a little shake.  
  
"Are y' sure it's entirely necess'ry?" he mumbled, not moving.  
  
"I'm afraid so. They'll need you on track in a while."  
  
His head tipped to the side and one bloodshot eye opened. "How long've I got?"  
  
"There's no rush." She remained silent for a few minutes, letting him slowly stretch and work his way upright.  
  
Richard craned his neck and rubbed his shoulder.  
  
"Stiff?" Pip asked, and he grunted. She retrieved the bottle of ibuprofen she'd discovered in one of the cupboards during her earlier explorations and shook two out. "Can you take these?" She held up the bottle.  
  
He squinted at it for a moment, then muttered, "Yes."  
  
Dropping the two pills into his outstretched hand, she simultaneously pushed the mug of coffee closer. "Cream or sugar?"  
  
"Both. Please."  
  
Pip fetched them and set them in front of Richard, along with a spoon. As he doctored his coffee, she fetched her purse and began rooting around in it, finally pulling out a tiny bottle with a pleased noise. "Eye drops," she explained. "Your eyes must feel like sandpaper right now."  
  
"Feels like there's a whole bloody beach in there," Richard agreed unhappily, taking the bottle from her. He tilted his head back and squeezed two drops into each eye. Nose still pointed to the ceiling, he fumbled the cap back on and held it out for Pip to take. "Thanks."  
  
"You're welcome." She sat at the table and picked up her BlackBerry, scrolling through the icons to try and familiarize herself with what was on it.  
  
Richard finally wiped the excess moisture from his eyes and tipped his head back down. "That should do the trick," he said, picking up his coffee and taking a large swallow. "That's excellent, that is."  
  
"Good. There's plenty more if you want it. And here's your lunch, as well." She slid the napkin-wrapped plate over. "Oh, and what area do you live in? I'll get you a short list of available plumbers and you can call them with the particulars later."  
  
Richard tossed a cracker into his mouth, crunched it a couple of times, then spoke around it. "You know," he said conversationally, "When Andy told us he was hiring us an assistant, we thought he was a bit daft, to be honest." He lifted the top slice of bread on the sandwich to see what was inside. "Ooh, roast beef. Lovely." He picked it up, then grinned at Pip. "Day two and you're already a godsend. At this rate, you'll be indispensable by Friday."  
  
She smiled back at him. "Here's hoping--job security, you know. My goal is to get you three to the point where you can't find your way out of a paper bag without me."  
  
He laughed. "That won't take long, in James's case." He chewed on his sandwich for a minute, then said, "Outside of Haslemere. I used to live in Gloucestershire, but it's easier to be closer to both Dunsfold and London, and it leaves me more time on the farm."  
  
Pip typed the name into her BlackBerry. "There. Now as long as I can find that again, I'll be able to do some research for you. Jeremy said you know how to use this thing?"  
  
His eyebrow rose. "Don't you?"  
  
"Nope," she said cheerfully. "Jeremy just gave it to me this morning, and I've never gotten my paws on one before this."  
  
Richard's second eyebrow joined the first halfway up his forehead. "Hang on. I could have sworn you just said Jeremy gave it to you."  
  
"He did," she confirmed, and then her face fell. "Why, is that--? Oh, no. Shouldn't I have--? Should I give it back to him?"  
  
"No, no, not at all," Richard quickly said. "Honestly, there's nothing wrong with it. I'm just a little...surprised, that's all."  
  
"He said I hadn't a hope of keeping everything organized with a book," she explained with a touch of anxiety. "I think it was also a bit of an apology for yesterday."  
  
"Right, now I'm gobsmacked," Richard snickered. "Clarkson, apologize? He didn't so much as bat an eye when he ran over my foot with the Peel P50."  
  
Pip's eyes widened. "He ran over your _foot_?"  
  
"I won't say it wasn't on purpose because I wouldn't put it past him, but the thing does only weigh one hundred and thirty pounds. Okay, with Jez it's four times that, but it wasn't exactly a Bentley Continental, right? Besides," he looked pleased with himself, "I talked my way into the segment on the Gumpert Apollo, which drove him mental." He took a big bite of his sandwich.  
  
Pip sighed and shook her head. "It's going to take me a while to understand how you three work together without killing each other. Jeremy runs you over, spreads rumours you have an STD, and James is torturing Jeremy with stinky cheese."  
  
"Oh, no, not more Stilton," Richard groaned, dismayed.  
  
"Worse. Limburger."  
  
"Oh, god."  
  
Pip pointed over her shoulder with her thumb. "It's in the fridge. Do they usually come in here for lunch?"

"No. Morning and afternoon tea, if we get it."  
  
"Okay. So I'll be making your tea early and then making my escape."  
  
Richard laughed. "I think I'll join you. Tea and BlackBerry lessons on the stairs, then?"  
  
"Deal," Pip grinned.  
  
  
  
  
"May! I'm going to kill you!" Jeremy shouted at an impressive volume. Across the wide lawn and massive airstrip, a flock of birds startled into the sky. "I'm going to rip your bollocks off, roast them in pig urine, and then feed them to Gordon bloody Ramsay!"  
  
Richard leaned closer to Pip where they sat on the steps of the portakabin, drinking their tea and eating gingersnaps. "Bet you a fiver James is pointing out that you would technically be _poaching_ them in pig's urine, not roasting," he murmured as they heard James's voice, the reply muffled through the door.  
  
Pip stifled a snort of laughter behind her hand.  
  
"I don't fucking care, you bloody fucking pedant!" Jeremy bellowed. "I'll bloody well _shish kebab_ them, and you can serve them up with that godawful insult to cheese and a side of Spanish rice!"  
  
"No bet," Pip choked out.  
  
James's voice became audible; the two sitting on the stairs outside could clearly hear the glee as he spoke. "Come on, Jez, just give it a try, you'll quite like it. Here."  
  
"Augh! Sod off, you sadistic pillock! Flip!" Jeremy shouted, "Flip, he touched me with it!"  
  
Pip shouted over her shoulder, "James, don't touch Jeremy with the cheese."  
  
That was all Richard could take, apparently, and he doubled over laughing.

  
  
  
  
Andy frowned when he saw Pip arrive trackside with James and Richard, but no Jeremy. "Where's the other one?" he asked her.  
  
Pip replied, "He'll be right here. I made him stay to clean up the teapot he broke when he threw Limburger at James."  
  
Andy looked at her for a moment. "The fact that you said that without so much as a twitch worries me."  
  
"I think it means she's either the exact _right_ person for the job, or the exact _wrong_ person," James commented.  
  
"Fifty-fifty odds, not bad," Richard said cheerfully. "Who wants to lay a fiver either way?"  
  
"If I've told you once, Hammond," Andy said, "I've told you a thousand times. No betting on the longevity of employees, it makes them nervous. Not to mention that it's far too easy to nobble 'em."  
  
"Quite right," Jeremy agreed, coming up behind them. He was slightly out of breath. "Remember Jason Dawe?"  
  
"I had nothing to do with that!" Richard objected.  
  
"So you say now. But he tells a different story."  
  
"Enough," Andy said firmly. "Pip, for the rest of the week, I want you to shadow these three everywhere. Learn their schedules, both on and off camera, learn the lingo of filming in the UK, of cars and things that go fast, meet the people they work with. At times you're going to have to be their intermediary, so you're going to have to learn their language well enough to be able to interpret that into normal English for the rest of us. Any questions so far?"  
  
Pip shook her head. "None yet, but I'll keep a list for later."  
  
"Good. James, Jeremy, Richard, please curb your natural inclinations to be devious little twats and help her out for the first while. The faster she gets a handle on everything, the faster she'll be making your sorry lives easier. All right, let's get to work, everyone!" he shouted, and walked over to the cameramen.

"In other words," Pip said to the three men, "Explain everything to me. In short sentences."  
  
"Film," Jeremy said loudly and slowly, waving his arms about. "Cars. Make go fast."  
  
"Berk." James lifted two fingers in Jeremy's direction.  
  
Richard patted her once on the back. "You'll pick it up, no worries."  
  
"We'll find out soon enough," she smiled. "Jeremy, tell me what they're doing?" She moved to his side, listening attentively as he explained the reflectors that were being set up to eliminate any inconvenient shadows, the sound guys doing their checks, one camera being set up on the crane.  
  
Richard and James strolled out of earshot. "Well?" Richard asked quietly.  
  
James shrugged. "Too soon to tell, I think. Jez seems to like her, and she came back for a second day despite him. She doesn't seem to know much about the business, though."

"I find that odd," Richard agreed. "But Andy's not in the habit of hiring useless hacks--"  
  
"Other than Jez."  
  
"Other than Jez," he grinned. "So he must know something we don't."  
  
James shoved his hands in his pockets. "She does make a decent cuppa, I'll give her that."  
  
Richard rolled his eyes. "I hope there was more on her CV than tea brewing." He looked back at Pip, who was now intently watching Andy as he pointed everyone to their places. He turned to walk back to the crew, and James followed.  
  
"She seems nice enough, though," James ventured.  
  
"She does. So are we going to tutor her, then, in the hope of keeping her around?"  
  
"Why are you asking me?"  
  
"Because you don't take well to newbies," Richard pointed out with a grin, "And you're going to have to be a bit patient and help out if we're going to make it work."  
  
Affronted, James said, "I'm perfectly pleasant with newbies. I'll have you know I've already--" He stopped.  
  
"What?"  
  
After a pause, he continued, "Already agreed to have a cup of tea with her once we're done for the day."  
  
"Well done, James," Richard said, surprised. "Well done indeed. In fact, we should all do that; what do you say to the four of us going out for a 'getting to know you' pint tonight?"  
  
"Yes, fine. Whatever you say," James replied a bit weakly. "I think they're ready for us," he added, pointing to where Clarkson was cupping his hands around his mouth and bellowing in their direction.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pip continues to learn about her charges, and sees first-hand some of the fallout from Richard's injury.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A massive thank you to foxtales and giddy_london for the betas, encouragement, and general enabling. This fandom wouldn't be half as much fun without you two. ♥ ♥ ♥

"Pip?" James stuck his head in the portakabin door, his body following when he spotted her. "Ah. There you are." 

"It smells like cheese that's been fermenting in a swamp in here," she scolded him, looking up from where she was scrubbing Limburger out of the carpet. 

"Sorry about that," James said sheepishly, nodding towards her cloth and soapy water. "I didn't think he'd actually throw it." 

"I have no issue with you tormenting Jeremy," she clarified. "Just...next time, could you pick something that smells a little better? Like, I don't know, potpourri, maybe?" 

James looked thoughtful. "You know, that actually might work. Except he'd just accuse me of being a homosexualist again." 

"He accuses a lot of people of a lot of things, doesn't he?" Pip chuckled, then added. "Sit down. Please, I'll just be a minute." 

"It's one of the things he does best," James agreed, taking a seat at the table. "Along with being mortally offensive, pouring wine, and setting things on fire." 

Pip dumped the dirty water down the sink and rinsed out her cloth. "And what are you best at?" 

James leaned back in his chair, his legs stretched out straight before him. "Pre-flight checks. Instruction manuals. Drinking an entire bottle of wine in the time it takes to make a shepherd's pie." 

"This is very enlightening," she grinned. "And what is Richard best at?" 

Cocking his head, James thought for a moment. "It's changed since the accident. Now, I would say... Temper tantrums. Being kind. Drawing naughty cartoons." 

"He didn't do those before the accident?" she asked, sitting across the table from him. 

"No, he did. But before I would have said he was best at fights and drinking inordinate amounts of lager for someone only four feet tall. He has to avoid both of those now." 

Pip sobered. "I suppose being punched in the head wouldn't be especially great for his recovery, no." Eyes on her hands, she ran one varnished thumbnail down the other. "James, tell me honestly. Do you think I'm here mostly to keep an eye on Richard?" 

James rubbed his chin. "Mostly? No, I don't think so. I think you're here to do precisely what Andy said, which is to keep our sorry arses on schedule. But I also think that we'd be fooling ourselves if we didn't admit that you'll be in an excellent position to notice more than the rest of us do in terms of his mood and behaviour. If you'll forgive the slightly sexist rhetoric, being a woman, you're more likely to notice any emotional ups and downs." 

"Sexism forgiven," she smiled, "Since it's pretty much true. You men are pants at emotions." 

James chuckled. "Pants? Where did you pick that one up?" 

"One of the cameramen. I get the feeling you're the details guy--is that why you've been nominated to tell me about Richard's difficulties?" 

"In part, I suppose. It's more that we've become best mates, though." He shrugged. "We talk." 

"Jeremy said something of the sort. All right, let's go at this one step at a time. What was the actual physical injury? I don't want to rely on the bits and pieces I heard at the time," she said. 

"Massive head trauma. It wasn't as if his skull was cracked open, but his brain did get sloshed around a fair bit. There was swelling, some bleeding. His eye was actually protruding from his head, the pressure was so severe." 

Pip made a face. "God." 

"Indeed. As he slowly recovered, he was...quite childlike at times." James's face showed strain. "It was hard on his parents to watch him playing Lego or Top Trumps, although it turns out to have been good therapy. I brought him a tractor with a plough on the back. The doctor couldn't believe how quickly he put it together." James smiled sadly. It was a moment before he continued again. "Richard panicked easily, repeated sentences over and over because he'd forgotten he'd already told you. He'd go for a walk and forget how to get back to his room. He was cross, difficult, and very emotional. He would get bored and ask people to come visit, but then he'd quickly tire and become confused and agitated. In short..." He cleared his throat. "Our Hamster was very badly broken." 

Pip wiped at her eyes. "I had no idea..." 

"Physically, he's healed up quite nicely," James said, obviously wanting to reassure her. "The swelling is gone, the headaches are gone--beyond the normal everyday, that is, so don't panic if he complains of a headache. It's likely just Clarkson driving him mental. He's finished with the regular therapy, but still has work to do on his own. His brain basically has to re-wire itself, re-grow some connections. He damaged the areas of his brain to do with emotional controls and spacial awareness, which from my point of view is brilliant, as it means I'm not the worst at parallel parking anymore." 

A giggle bubbled up in her throat. "You're awful." 

"Truly," he agreed with a smile. "He also damaged the bit of his brain that processes information, which means not only does he still forget things sometimes--he called me last month for directions to the BBC offices--but he also makes the occasional odd decision." 

"Like what?" 

James thought for a moment. "There was the time he said he was going to Brighton for a burger and chips." 

Pip cocked her head in question. 

"Well, you can get a burger and chips anywhere, can't you? But when Richard decided he wanted some, his brain crossed a wire and made the connection that he had to go to the coast, because the last time he'd had a burger and chips, he'd been at the seaside. And it was perfectly reasonable to him to make a three hour drive to the coast just for a burger and chips." 

Pip blew out a loud breath. "Wow. That's kind of scary, in the potential." 

"Precisely. The good news is, these aberrations are happening less and less often all the time. A bit of forgetfulness and difficulty dealing with his emotions are the main issues, neither of which are much cause for fear. And he's still seeing a psychiatrist for the darker moments." 

"That's good." Pip nodded, and then was silent for a few moments as she thought everything through. "All right. So, physically he can do pretty much anything other than drink a lot and get into fistfights?" 

"He also can't go deep-sea diving. Or launch himself into orbit," James smiled. "Too much pressure on the old noggin." 

"Important facts to know," she said gravely. "I wouldn't put it past you three to want to turn a Lamborghini into a submersible." 

James looked at her. "You know, that's not a bad--" 

"Don't even _think_ about it," she laughed. "You're out a test Hamster, remember?" 

"Right. Right. At any rate, yes, physically he's about back to normal. He does tire more easily than he used to, but he can't resist pushing himself out of sheer frustration. When he does, we just have to let him sleep it off." 

"Like this morning." 

James nodded. 

"Can he be reasoned with, when he's pushing himself too hard?" she asked. 

"Sometimes, yes, if he's not angry or frustrated. But most of the time you have to simply get out of his way and then pick up the pieces later." 

Pip pursed her mouth. "We'll see about that. I greatly dislike having to pick up pieces. Can he be talked out of decisions like driving to Brighton for fast food?" 

"Usually," James smiled. "Once you explain to him that his choice doesn't quite make sense--and why, he always wants to know why--he'll generally trust to your judgement, because he knows his is a bit suspect." 

"Well, that's something, at least." She sighed. "Not that he'll listen to me anyway, I'm sure, considering we've only just met." 

"Not right away, I shouldn't think. But it won't take long." 

Pip sat back in her chair with a bit of a thump. "I don't mind telling you I'm a bit nervous about all of this. Listen, can I--when he--I mean, I know--oh, bugger." She covered her face with her hands. "I'll start that one again, shall I?" 

"I think you'd better," James chuckled. 

She dropped her hands to her lap. "Jeremy said if I have any concerns about Richard, I can bring them to you, Jeremy, or Andy." 

"Absolutely." 

"If I can't find one of you easily, would it be all right if I called you on your cell phone? Only if I'm really out of my depth with him, I mean, I won't be calling you all the time or anything." 

"Of course, Pip. It was important for you to know all of this, but I honestly don't think you'll have anything to deal with beyond the odd filthy mood or midday nap. He really is a genuinely nice chap, and he's mending well." 

Before she could respond, the portakabin door flew open and Richard himself walked in. "Ready to go, then? I hope Sheila's got the steak and mushroom pies on tonight, I'm famished." 

James frowned in confusion. "Sheila? At The Cross Keys, do you mean?" 

"Where else? Let's go, Clarkson's got a head start and--" 

"You told him The Cross Keys and he left?"

"No, I told him Milton Keynes and he left. Yes, May, I told him 'the usual' and he tore out of the car park as he always does, the fucker." Richard rolled up onto the balls of his feet.

Pip handed Richard a piece of paper. "Just before you go, here's the list of plumbers. No guarantee of quality, just of availability for a water heater emergency." 

Richard tucked the list in his bag. "Ah, thank you, you're a love. I might even have hot water back by the weekend!" 

"Rich--" James began. 

Pip picked up her backpack. "Goodnight, then, see you both tomorrow." 

"Pip--" James tried again. 

Richard spun around. "Tomorrow? Aren't you coming?" 

"Coming where?" Pip asked, bewildered. 

"Shut up!" James demanded loudly. When Richard and Pip looked at him in surprise, he rose from the table. "Both of you, stop talking for one minute and let a bloke get a word in edgewise!" he said, exasperated. "Hammond, I haven't even had a chance to tell her yet. Not only that, The Cross Keys is impossible, you imbecile, and you're going to be the one to call Clarkson and tell him." He turned to Pip. "We thought we'd take you for a pint so we can all have a proper chat and get to know each other. Does that sound all right?" 

Pip looked pleased. "I'd like that. But--" 

James forestalled her. "I know. Bicycle." He simply looked at Richard and waited for the penny to drop. 

"Bollocks!" Richard scrambled in his bag for his cell. "He's going to flay me alive! He's probably halfway to Esher by now." 

Beginning to understand, Pip grinned. "Where _is_ The Cross Keys?" 

"London." 

" _West_ London," Richard tried to defend himself, aggrieved. " _West_." 

Pip started to laugh. "I begin to see why I'm needed around here, if this is an example of the organizational skills I can expect from you three." 

"Well, if Hammond would stop ploughing into things headlong, and I do mean that quite literally--" 

"Oh, I like that!" Richard protested. "You're the one who apparently can't even organize a piss-up in a pub--Jeremy? Jez, where are you?... Well, pull off. We're not going to London after all." He held the phone away from his ear and even across the room, James and Pip could hear Jeremy shouting. After a moment he brought the phone back up and cut Jeremy off. "Because Pip doesn't have a car, remember?... No, she cannot just 'cycle home' afterward... Because it's forty-five miles, you twat!" 

James quietly said to Pip, "I've just realized I don't even know where you live. Are you in Dunsfold or Cranleigh? They both have a decent little pub." 

Pip shook her head. "Neither, I'm in Godalming." James looked surprised, and she shrugged. "It's the only place I could find a flat for rent." 

"What's that, ten miles?" 

"Seven-ish." 

James raised his eyebrow and was about to speak when Richard interrupted to ask where they were going, then, because he wanted to hang up on Jeremy. 

"The Red Lion, Godalming," James told him. "They have real ale." 

"That's not the one where Jeremy vomited in the car park, was it?"

"No, that was Guildford. I'm never going back there, by the way." 

"You and me both, mate. Jez? The Red Lion in Godalming. Right. Yeah, see you there." He snapped his phone shut. 

"Jeremy threw up in their car park?" Pip asked faintly. "Does he...do that a lot?" 

James laughed. "No. He had 'flu, poor sod, but everyone thought he was pie-eyed. Rich and I may or may not have played that idea up." 

"You're both pure evil, aren't you?" 

"Unadulterated and undiluted," Richard agreed happily. "Right, now that we've sorted out where, shall we depart?" 

"You might as well give me a head start, it's going to take me a good forty-five minutes to get there on my bike," Pip pointed out. 

James and Richard stared at each other, looking slightly aghast that they hadn't thought of yet another central flaw in their plan, and Richard swore. "I've got the Morgan today." 

James sighed. "I've got the Porsche." 

"I'm not sure which one a Morgan is," Pip grinned, "But I'm guessing it doesn't have any more room for a bike than a Porsche does. I'll see you there." 

"No, wait," Richard said. "I'll just pick you up in the morning. Leave your bike here and come with either James or me, and I'll give you a lift in tomorrow." 

James looked at him askance. "Richard, you live in opposite directions." 

"For fuck's sake, I know that," he snapped, then looked away for a minute. "I know," he repeated in a normal voice, looking at James rather than Pip. "But I don't mind the drive." 

"All right, then," James said mildly, nodding when Richard gripped his shoulder for a brief moment. 

"Really, you don't have to do that," Pip began, but Richard cut her off. 

"I know, but I am absolutely perishing for some food. The sooner we all get there, the sooner we can eat. And don't--" he added, pointing his finger at her, "--argue any more. Just nod your head, smile, and say 'yes, Richard'." 

Pip's smile was genuine as she nodded. "Yes, Richard." 

He eyed her once more as if to ensure she got the point, and then his face brightened. "Excellent. Past time you knew what a Morgan is, anyway. You'll love her, I promise." 

The three walked out to the car park, and James stopped beside a silver grey Porsche. "You remember where it is, Richard?" 

"Yes, James, the question is, do you?" 

James lifted two fingers in his direction, and then with a wave to Pip, climbed into his car. 

Chuckling, Richard led the way over to his own automobile. 

Pip stopped in front of it, a look of awe on her face. "This is your Morgan?" 

"Isn't she marvellous?" 

She walked around the nose of the car, admiring the two-toned paint in black and silver, the rounded lines, the sparkling chrome grill and stainless wire wheels. "You mean, you get to drive this every day?" 

Richard smiled widely, obviously pleased with her reaction. "Whenever I want. I've had it for over two years now, it's brilliant for motoring around on country roads." 

"Oh my god, this is _spectacular_." 

"You wouldn't think it to look at her, but she does zero to sixty-two in four point nine seconds," he said proudly. 

Pip waved the statistic away. "Whatever. The real question is, does she _purr_?" 

"Like a ruddy tiger," he grinned, then steered her around to the left side passenger door. 

She turned pink. "Oops. Forgot." 

They climbed in, and Richard started the car, revving the engine slightly. "Well?" 

Pip sighed in rapture. "Like a ruddy tiger," she agreed. "This is definitely the nicest car I have ever been in in my entire life. Is the top automatic?" 

"The hood? Yes. Would you like it open?" 

"Oh, could we? That would be fantastic." She actually clapped her hands in delight, and then turned in her burgundy leather seat to watch the hood smoothly lower into the body of the car. "Lovely." Facing forward again, as Richard put the car into reverse and backed up, she trailed a finger across the satin smooth dash. "What kind of wood is it? It's beautiful." 

He glanced over, smiling. "Good English walnut. Did you know the Morgan is individually hand-made?" 

"You mean one person makes each car?" she asked, astounded. 

"Not quite," he chuckled, shifting smoothly into first and gliding out of the car park. "Each person has their own specialty, be it welding or stitching or installing electrics or what-have-you, but everything is done by _people_ , not machines. No robot touched this car, it was entirely assembled by caring human hands." He quickly came up to speed on the road out of Dunsfold. 

Pip dropped her sunglasses down onto her nose and turned her face to the dappled sunshine speeding past. "I wish I had a scarf," she laughed. "I'd feel just like Grace Kelly." 

"Ah, now you're a princess, are you?" Richard teased. 

"Hardly! But I definitely feel like a Very Important Pip, riding around in luxury like this." 

"It suits you, Princess," he said, a wicked gleam in his eyes. 

Pip groaned. "I'm never going to hear the end of that now, am I?" 

"I doubt it." 

 

Approaching Godalming, Pip asked where the pub was. "The Red Lion, I think you called it?" 

"Yeah. It's on Mill Lane." He pulled up to the intersection of the Brighton Road and the main thoroughfare through town, and then sat there, no indicator on, unmoving. 

She glanced over at him and saw his jaw muscles tighten. "Richard? Is something wrong?" 

"I can't remember where Mill Lane is," he said stiffly, his knuckles going white on the steering wheel. 

Pip pulled her purse onto her lap. "It's all right. Just give me...one second..." She pulled out a folded and wrinkled piece of paper. 

"I knew when we left," Richard muttered angrily. "When he asked me, I _knew_." A car pulled up behind them and honked. Richard swore. 

"Turn left," Pip said calmly. "And then take the second right onto High Street. I printed this map out for myself because I kept getting turned around. If your stupid streets ran straight, I'd be fine, but they don't. No, they all curve around all over the place; it's chaos. No matter what direction I _think_ I'm facing, I'm pretty much guaranteed to be wrong. Go left onto Mill, I think there's parking here somewhere. I didn't realise it was right off the High Street. Haven't you people ever heard of a _grid_?" 

Richard very deliberately unclenched his jaw and drew a deep breath, then a second. He cast Pip a grateful, rather apologetic glance, then said, "The place rather pre-dates town planning, I should think." He spotted the car park and, surprisingly, found a spot at the end. 

"And does it pre-date the straight line?" she asked with asperity. "Were your ancestors really so directionally challenged they couldn't walk in a straight bloody line?" 

Richard rose to the bait as he raised the Morgan's hood. "Directionally challenged, my arse. You try fording rivers and walking through swamps and impenetrable thickets, and see how straight a line you've trod!" 

"Might I remind you," she said haughtily, climbing out of the low-slung vehicle with only minor difficulty, "That _my_ ancestors did just that? They left your sorry excuse for a road network and moved to a new land, a better land, a land where they could start fresh and have straight roads. Roads that actually went from point A to point B without meandering all over creation first!" They crossed the road and walked down the cobblestoned way to the pub, arguing the entire time.

Richard led the way into the pub and through into a back room. It was furnished with dark red leather club chairs and love seats arranged into cozy groups around low tables, bookshelves on every wall, and two large plasma screens adorned the only empty spaces, although they were currently turned off. James and Jeremy occupied one of the corners, each taking up one of the oversized chairs. In Jeremy's case, it fit him perfectly.

"There you are!" Jeremy complained. "I can apparently drive halfway to London and back before you can shift your sorry arse 10 miles. What the hell took you so long?" 

James looked up as well. "I'm not used to not being the last to arrive," he said contentedly. "I quite enjoyed that."

Richard looked slightly uncomfortable, and opened his mouth to explain, but Pip spoke over him. 

"Entirely my fault, I'm afraid," she said, plopping herself down on the love seat. "I was admiring the Morgan, and I guess I took a bit too long." 

Richard sat beside her. "It wasn't--" 

She blithely interrupted him yet again. "I think I might be in love with that car. Your Porsche is awfully gorgeous as well, James. What do you drive, Jeremy?" 

When Jeremy immediately launched into the list of his current cars, Richard caught her eye and gave her a wry twist of his lips. Pip understood, and smiled warmly back, before returning her attention to Jeremy. 

"...a Land Cruiser, and an Aston Martin Vantage, which is the wife's," Jeremy concluded. "I've got my eye on a brilliant little Alfa Romeo, though, I might have to get that one as well." 

Pip cocked her head to the side. "I'm not sure exactly what _all_ those cars look like, but my guess is, I think your wife got the nicest of them." 

Jeremy turned slightly pink and took a swallow of his beer, and James snickered behind his hand. 

"Kissing another woman can be expensive," Richard said.

There was dead silence for a moment before Jeremy bit out, "Fuck you, Hammond, that's a private matter!" 

Richard looked surprised. "What?" 

"Bloody hell," James sighed. "Richard, you've done it again." 

"Shit. What did I say?" 

"Something you shouldn't have. Jeremy's marital issues are none of Pip's business. No offence, Pip." 

"None taken," she said quietly. 

Richard blanched. "Christ, Jez, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to--I'm sorry. Fuck. _Fuck_." He surged to his feet and stormed out of the room. 

Jeremy was glowering at his beer, so James caught Pip's eye and motioned his head towards the door. 

Pip nodded and hurried after Richard, leaving James to deal with Jeremy. 

"I know, so you needn't say it," Jeremy growled, lines of anger etched in his face. 

"Say what?" 

"I am neither stupid, nor a mentalist, unlike certain brain-damaged midgets I could mention. I do know he didn't mean to say it. I know it's the injury." 

"And yet you're still angry," James said evenly. 

"Yes. He didn't mean to say it out loud, but he meant it. He bloody well thinks that, James." 

James scrubbed a hand across his chin. "At the risk of pissing you off further, Jez, what he said was not an untruth." 

"You think I don't know that?" Jeremy shouted, and then quickly lowered the volume, if not the tone, of his voice. "I made a mistake, I admit that. A horrid, disastrous, regrettable mistake. And yes, the car was part of my apology and re-commitment to Francie. But if _she_ can forgive me--and she's the only one I truly wronged--who the fuck is he to think himself so bloody superior?" 

"He doesn't, Jez. You know that. He was disappointed by what happened, yes, but he was proud of you for how you handled it, he respects you for that." James leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. "But everyone has thoughts that pop into their head without their blessing, and it's not his fault that his wiring is on the fritz. He's outside kicking himself right now, and if I know him he'll be working himself into a right state." 

"Undoubtedly," Jeremy muttered. 

"So do us all a favour, Clarkson. Accept his apology and let things go back to normal. Well, whatever passes for normal with you, anyway. He's been through enough, he doesn't need any more grief." 

Jeremy let out a blustery sigh. "Oh...shut up and get me another drink." 

 

  
Pip had to jog to catch up with Richard, and when she did, she followed him silently to the car park. He passed his Morgan and went straight to a massive tree marking the boundary, its branches overhanging the pavement, its trunk at least six feet in girth. Richard put his left hand on it, and his right he tightened into a fist and rested it gently against the bark. He stayed that way for nearly ten seconds, before suddenly cocking his arm back. 

"Don't!" Pip snapped, her voice sharp and loud. 

The fingertips on his left hand clawed into the bark, breaking off rough fragments. His shoulders tensed, but he brought his fist in slowly to once again simply press against the trunk, before pushing himself off the tree and turning to face her, misery and confusion in his eyes. 

"It's all right, Richard," she said softly. 

"It's not. I can't--I haven't--I don't--" He stopped, frustrated. " _Shit_." 

"Let's walk," she suggested, and again had to hurry to catch up when he whirled away and took off at a quick pace. They headed down the street away from the pub. 

"I don't know this one," he burst out. "I don't know how to--to--collect it. Fuck, that's not even the right word! Jesus fucking Christ!" 

"Slow down," Pip said calmly, although her own hands were clenched. "First your legs. Come on, Richard, I can't keep up with you, I'm too fat for this." 

"So lose some fucking weight, then," he snapped, and then stopped, looking horrified. "Pip. Oh, Pip, I'm sorry--"

"Ouch," she said, but with a grin. "The truth stings when it comes from someone else's mouth. Which is why Jeremy was angry, you know." 

Richard resumed walking, but slowed his pace enough that Pip could easily walk beside him. "Dammit, I've never done that before. I mean, I've blurted out things I shouldn't, but never anything hurtful about one of my best mates; Jeremy's probably ready to pound me." He looked sideways at her. "You're being awfully understanding. Who ratted me out?" 

"You mean who wanted to help you?" she countered. "James. So, yes, I know you're still having difficulties, but no, I don't know what you're dealing with right now. Slow your brain down, stop and think about it, and then tell me what you want to say." 

Richard nodded, took a deep breath, and let it out with a sigh. They walked in silence for some ways before he finally said, "I have a lot of damage to certain areas of my brain. They can't repair themselves. It's like...like someone blew a crater into the M1. Now all the traffic has to find an alternate route. Every new emotion I encounter, I don't know how to deal with it, because the knowledge is stuck on the M1, right?" 

Pip nodded. "I'm with you so far." 

"There are all kinds of alternate routes around the crater, and every time I have something new, I have to....to follow the new route around. It takes time. It's frightening. It's confusing as hell." He cleared his throat. "The more often I use the alternate route, the more normal it feels. In contrast to that, the less often this happens, the more shocking and frustrating it is when it does. I keep thinking I'm better, only to find out I'm still fucking rubbish."

"You are not rubbish, Richard. The recovery you've made so far has been absolutely awe-inspiring. No, inspiring _period_ ," she said firmly. "You're just not quite finished yet, that's all. So, let me see if I'm still with you--you've said things before that you didn't intend to. Is that a function of the injury as well, I assume?" 

Richard nodded, his eyes on the road in front of his feet. "Damage to the impulse and inhibition controls." 

"And you said you've never blurted out something you regret to one of your best friends before?" 

He snorted. "Oh, I've said things I regret, but usually only because it's bloody embarrassing." 

Pip smiled. "Okay, something hurtful, then." 

"No. No, I've never managed that before," he said, sounding bitter. 

"It's not your fault, you do know that, don't you?" 

"I know." 

She looked over at him, and frowned. "I've just broken my ankle. Do you think I should expect to run to Dunsfold tomorrow?" 

"Of course not, but--" 

"What about next week?" 

"Well, no, but--" 

"Then shut up."

Richard opened his mouth, and then closed it again. Eventually he said, "Write that one down for me. Including the 'shut up'." 

"I shouldn't have said that. I'm sorry." 

Surprised, Richard looked at her. "Why?" 

"Because technically, I work for you, and it's not appropriate. And it's rude." 

"If you think I care about rude, you can bloody well think again, Princess." 

Pip groaned and rolled her eyes. "Shit, I was hoping you'd forget about that." 

"Selective brain injury, apparently," Richard teased, smiling for the first time since he'd left the pub. He leaned sideways and bumped her shoulder with his. "I really am sorry for that crack about losing weight. Forgive me?" 

"Of course. There's nothing to forgive." 

"Yes, there is, but thank you. May I be completely, bluntly truthful for one more minute?" 

Pip bit her lip. "If you must." 

Richard chuckled. "Don't look like that. I'm not about to kill your puppy, I'm only going to say that you're not fat." 

"That knock on your noggin damage your eyesight, too?" she asked, folding her arms across her chest. 

"No. And this is where the blunt part comes in, I hope I don't say this too badly: neither are you precisely Twiggy. Okay, maybe you're carrying a few pounds more than you want, but you are not fat. So no more of that, all right?" 

Pip looked away. "I'd rather not discuss it, please." 

Richard sighed. "Did I make a questionable judgement, there? I do that, sometimes, too. Listen, I'm sorry if I'm being presumptuous. It's probably far too soon in our acquaintance for that sort of conversation." 

"I think it is, yes," she said uncomfortably. "So we'll just forget that part of today, shall we?" 

"I'd rather forget a lot more than just that," Richard admitted. "Forgetting where the street was, mouthing off to Jez, then to you--today has been...extremely disappointing." 

"These things don't happen on a daily basis?" 

"No, thank god. I wonder if I'm tired? It is late in the day, and I tend to slow down after teatime on the best days." 

"You did lose an entire night's sleep yesterday," she reminded him. 

"You're right!" His face brightened. "That's got to be part of it! God, that's a relief. So what do I do about Clarkson?" 

Pip glanced at him in surprise. "You're asking me?" 

"Considering the past few hours, Pip, I'm starting to trust you." 

Pip ducked her head, then said, "You can, you know. Trust me. I'm not going to...well, whatever it is you thought was possible for me to do before you trusted me." 

Richard laughed out loud. "You can't even think of a single way to screw me over! Now I _know_ you're perfect to be my babysitter." 

She flushed a bit. "Can we change that to 'assistant'? Please?" 

Richard shrugged and looked at her curiously. "Sure. Any particular reason?" 

"It just...has a bit more dignity." 

He smiled. "All right. I suppose it was guilt." 

"What?" 

"Jeremy," he clarified. "My little breakdown back there. Guilt over hurting a mate?" 

It took Pip a moment to answer. "Well, yes, that would make sense. Although it's probably a bit more complicated than that, which is what made it so difficult to sort out." 

"I need to talk this one over with my psychiatrist," he said. "You knew I was seeing one, didn't you?" 

"James mentioned it. I hope you don't mind he talked to me about you; he just didn't want me to be caught unawares. I think he thought I might panic." 

"And are you a panicky sort?" Richard asked. 

"Not over things that matter. Not at the time, anyway. Sometimes afterwards." 

"So I'd better buy you a drink when we get back to the others, then," he grinned. 

"Hell, yes. What helps you? Having plans for things?" 

"Definitely." 

"Then what's your plan for Jeremy?" 

He paused. "Well, I'll apologize. And I'll tell him I know he loves Francie even though he kissed Elaine." 

Pip winced. "Maybe not that last bit." 

"Really?" He thought for a moment. "But he does love Francie." 

"Okay, but you should probably leave out the part about the 'other woman'."

"Why?"

"When you're apologizing, it doesn't help to remind the person about their mistakes or faults." 

"Hmm. All right." He stopped walking, and looked off into the distance down the road. "You swear, hand on heart, that I can trust you?" 

Pip was a bit taken aback. "Yes, why?" 

"Sometimes I..." He ran a hand through his hair. "I sometimes have bad days. Very bad days. Not often, but...if I..." He trailed off. 

She gave him a moment, but when he didn't continue, she quietly said, "I won't take anything to heart--I'll always give you a do-over. You can also call me anytime, and if there's anything I can do, I will. Does that cover what you were trying to say?" 

Richard's smile was twisted. "Your offer is rather staggeringly generous, considering we met a matter of days ago." 

"Yesterday, actually." 

"Good god, really?" 

Pip huffed a little laugh and turned to start walking back to the pub, Richard falling into step beside her. "Most of it is that you're my job," she said frankly. "The easier things are for you, the better things go on set, and maybe I'll get a pay raise." 

"That's flattened my ego a bit," he teased. "What's the rest of it?" 

She lifted a shoulder, embarrassed. "You seem like a genuinely nice guy. I like helping nice people." 

"...Thank you, Pip. For everything today." 

"You're welcome," she said, her eyes on the ground. 

They walked in silence for a few minutes, but then Richard said, as if continuing a conversation they'd already started, "It's just that James is...well, he's a brilliant mate, and I can't tell you everything he's done for me since the accident. Like making sure all my bills are on automatic payment so I can't forget them, or thinking to warn you what you're up against with me around. But James is not at ease with emotions, or with comfort, or even with a hand on your shoulder, you know? He calls them 'Feelings'--with a capital 'F'--which ought to tell you something right there." 

Pip chuckled. "He comes across that way on the show, that's for sure. I'm sort of surprised to hear he's that way in real life, too, though. Don't ask me why. What about Jeremy?" 

"Jeremy is, astonishingly enough, slightly better at the more tender emotions. Of course, if you accuse him of that, he'll thump you one," he grinned, then grew serious again. "But he's impatient. And he gets on my highly irritable nerves more quickly than is truly fair." 

"You don't seem particularly irritable," she said. 

"It's all part of the difficulty regulating my emotions; I have mood swings, and I get irritated very quickly. It's something I've really been struggling with, although I've started to improve of late." 

"If there's anything I can do to help you with that, just say the word." 

"Just be patient with me," he said. "All I can say is that I'm trying." 

"I promise." She looked over at him, opened her mouth to speak, and then closed it again, her cheeks pinking. 

"What?" 

"Nothing. Never mind." 

"If I'm going to trust you, you're going to have to return the favour," he chided. "What were you going to say?" 

"It's a bit much. Considering." 

"Duly noted. Tell me anyway." 

Pip reached up and gripped her shoulder, her fingers kneading into the base of her neck, her gaze fixed firmly on the ground. "I'm not great at knowing what to say, but I'm pretty good at comfort, I've been told. You know, if you're desperately upset, or something." 

Richard was silent for a moment. "Do you mean that?" he finally asked. 

"Yes?" she squeaked. 

He shook his head, looking slightly bewildered. "I don't--I'm not sure how to deal with you." 

"I'm sorry--" 

"No, don't you dare. Despite being an utter stranger, you've been a better friend to me in the past two days than some of my mates have been in the past two months." 

Pip remained silent, her cheeks flaming.

 

 

The rest of the walk back to the pub was achieved in awkward silence, but as Richard held the door open for her, he murmured, "Bearding the lion in his den. Wish me luck." 

Pip smiled shyly at him and gave his arm a lightning quick squeeze. "Good luck. You'll do great." 

They walked through to the back room to find Jeremy and James still ensconced in their chairs, a second half-drunk pint in front of each. 

Richard sat down in the corner of the loveseat closest to Jeremy. "Jez," he said quietly, and with as much sincerity as could fit in one man's voice, "I'm sorry, mate. Truly sorry. I know how much you love Francie, and I'm sorry I'm a brain damaged twat."

"Good. It's your round; I'll have another of whatever this is, and a steak and kidney pie," Jeremy said loudly, breezily. "James?" 

"The ploughman's. And a pint of Old Peculiar, please." 

"You are what you drink, after all," Jeremy jibed him. 

"Ha, bloody ha, Clarkson. At least I'm not drinking utter swill brewed by uneducated neophytes who know more about the football pools than the art of creating a proper ale." 

Richard, his head down and his hair in his eyes, said, "I guess I'll have to try the humble pie, then, yeah?" He suddenly raised his eyebrow and looked up at Jeremy from under his fringe, his eye glinting. 

"You'd likely only choke on it," Jeremy said scornfully, betrayed by the upward curve of his mouth. "Do they serve crow?" 

"I think they're fresh out." 

"Blast. Reckon you'll have to stick to the pie, then." 

Pip looked at Richard first, then Jeremy, a puzzled look in her eye. 

Richard rose to his feet. "Pip, what can I order for you?" 

"Umm--do they do sandwiches here?" 

"Yeah, all sorts. What do you like?" 

"Chicken, or turkey? Something like that? No onions. And a half of cider." 

"Done. Jez, give us a hand?" Richard waited expectantly. 

"Oh, for god's sake! Can't you even manage four measly drinks?" Jeremy grumbled, but rose and followed Richard to the bar. 

Pip watched them go, then turned to James. "Is that fixed, then?" 

James smiled. "That's fixed. An odd way of communicating, I know, but it works for them." 

"As long as they're okay." 

"By the time we start filming tomorrow, they'll have forgotten they were ever at odds," he promised. "Richard especially is like that now, but they both always have been to an extent. Anger burns high and hot, but it's a flash fire, and it's extinguished quickly." 

She shook her head. "I wish I was like that." 

"Me too. Things went all right with Richard, then?" 

"Yeah." A tiny smile showed at the corner of her mouth. "Yeah, I think we muddled along pretty well."


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everybody expects the Clarkson Inquisition.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A massive thank you to [foxtales](http://archiveofourown.org/users/foxtales/profile) and giddy_london for the betas, encouragement, and general enabling. This fandom wouldn't be half as much fun without you two. ♥ ♥ ♥

They'd finished eating and drinking, moving on to coffee after the meal. Pip curled her feet up onto the small sofa. "All right, then, who's going to start the Spanish Inquisition?"

"Jez is always High Inquisitor," James said. "Rich and I aren't cruel enough for the job. Although, to be fair, Rich always tries hard." 

"Pillock," Richard said comfortably, slouched on the love seat beside Pip, his coffee in his hand. "This isn't an inquisition, Pip--" 

"Yes, it is," Jeremy objected, although it was clear he was only half-serious. "I want to know who's going to be dictating my schedule now. I also want to make certain I can trust her, after your episode of foot-in-mouth disease earlier. What if she runs off and sells the story to the tabloids for enough money to buy a Carerra?" 

Richard rolled his eyes. "It'd be a bit of flogging a dead horse, wouldn't it? That story's already run its course, Jez." 

"I _know_ that, Hammond. I want to be sure of confidentiality before the next story, and I should think you would, too." 

Pip interrupted the debate before it could get heated. "I understand Jeremy, I really do. I'm just not sure how I can set your mind at ease." 

"Why did you move to England? How did you get this job? What did you do before?" he barked. 

"One at a time, Jez," James protested. "You're making _me_ uncomfortable, let alone her." 

"I moved to England because I visited here once, and I loved it. I was unhappy in my job at home, I disliked the town I was living in, and I had no major responsibilities tying me down," Pip explained easily. "I figured why not? If it was a disaster, I'd just move back to Canada and start over again. So far it hasn't been easy, but I've got a job and a place to live, so I'm content for the moment." 

"For the moment," Jeremy repeated. "Planning on moving on quickly, are you? I don't want to put my scheduling into the hands of someone who's going to be buggering off in six months." 

Pip shook her head. "That's not me. I meant content in terms of how I've started off here. I expect to get better at my job and find a nicer place to live when I can afford it, and then I'll be more than content." 

Richard nodded, looking pleased with her answer. 

"As for how I got the job, a friend of mine works at White City and recommended me to Andy. She knew I'd been thinking of moving to England, but probably wouldn't actually do it without a job to come to. And my previous boss sent in a recommendation for me. You should probably ask Andy if you want to know anything more about why he actually gave me a chance, because I certainly wasn't expecting it." 

"What was your previous job?" Jeremy quizzed, his eyes narrowing. 

"Very similar to what I'm doing for you guys, except in a different industry. I was personal assistant to the president of a large furniture store chain. He was brilliant at the creative and business end, and utterly shit at organizing his commitments. I was working reception at head office at the time, and ended up just starting to, well, rescue him from himself. After a month of things going more smoothly, he took me off reception, gave me a small office off his, and I oversaw every detail of his schedule and paperwork. Within two years he'd doubled my salary and I was organizing his personal life as well." 

"And why were you unhappy?" James asked curiously. 

"He got married, and his new wife resented the depth of my involvement in his affairs." She suddenly coloured. "Not _affairs_ affairs. You know, his, his business. She made it a very difficult situation. He couldn't say no to her, and I couldn't stay under those circumstances, so I made the decision to take Andy's offer sight unseen, so to speak." 

"So you're used to dealing with personal information?" Jeremy asked, watching her intently. 

"Yes, I am." 

"And you've never gone shopping on eBay with his credit card number, or gossiped to your girlfriend about his leopard print knickers, or emailed his private porn collection to the papers?" he pressed, then added, "Hamster's especially worried about that last one." 

"I'm not ashamed of my porn collection," Richard said solemnly. "It's very tasteful." 

Smiling, Pip said, "No, I've never done any of those things. I am quite boring and trustworthy, really. I don't know the right people to pass the dirt onto, I guess?" 

"Hmm. Well, we'll see about that." 

"Just give me a chance to prove myself, Jeremy, that's all I ask. I want to stick with this job as long as Top Gear exists, and I'm not going to do anything stupid to jeopardize that." 

Jeremy steadily held her gaze for a moment longer, and then nodded. "Right. What do you know about the Bugatti Veyron?" 

She made a face. "You didn't tell me there would be an exam. Umm. It's fast, and sleek, and expensive, and...fast?" 

"I went fastest in it," James said smugly. "Two hundred and fifty-three-point-five miles per hour." 

"Are you serious?" Pip's eyes were wide. "Jesus. The fastest I've ever been in a car was...one hundred and thirty-five," she cringed as she said it. 

"That's not bad," Richard said encouragingly. "One-thirty-five miles per hour is--" 

"Kilometres," she mumbled. 

"I beg your pardon?" 

"Kilometres per hour, okay? The fastest I've ever been is one hundred and thirty-five _kilometres_ per hour." 

The three men stared at her blankly. "That's...only eighty-five miles per hour," Richard finally said. "James, you're the resident expert on slow. Is that even possible?" 

"It is," James said thoughtfully. "My grandmother never went above fifty-five miles per hour in her life. Mind you, she lived half her life before the invention of the motorcar." 

"Yeah, yeah, all right," Pip muttered. "Mock away, I can take it." 

"This is not acceptable," Jeremy declared. "No Top Gear staff member should be such an embarrassment to us. What have we got on set tomorrow, Hamster?" 

Richard screwed his face up as he thought. "Well, the Bugatti, obviously, but we'd never be allowed. The Ferrari, ditto. And the Peel, which won't quite suit our purpose. Besides, the Stig will be on-track with the Dame. We'll do it Thursday." 

"Do what Thursday?" Pip asked suspiciously. 

"Make you go fast," Richard said with a wolfish grin. 

"I was afraid that was what you meant." 

James suggested, "I'll bring the Boxster and run her around the track. Or better yet, down the main airstrip." He looked at Pip. "Don't worry, we'll start you off gently. We'll only be doing about one-twenty." 

"What is that in kilometres?" 

He thought for a moment. "About one-ninety." 

Pip pinched the bridge of her nose. "Oh god." 

"Too much for you, Flip?" Jeremy challenged. 

She immediately lifted her head and said, "No, not at all."

James and Richard shared a grin. "We'll have to keep _that_ in mind," Richard murmured to him. 

Pip said, "Back to the Veyron, if you please. Give me two facts about it that I should know." 

"It has an 8.0 litre W16 engine," Jeremy rattled off. At the look on her face, he sighed loudly, sounding very put-upon. "Do you know what a V8 engine is?" 

"Yes, it has eight, ehm, whatsits." She made an up and down gesture with her hand in a circular shape, flushing when Jeremy sniggered and Richard laughed out loud. "Pistons, dammit. Pistons. God, you're like fifteen year olds." 

Still snickering, Jeremy said, "Yes, it has eight cylinders, arranged in a V configuration. A W16 is simply two V8's that share a crankshaft." 

She looked surprised. "That actually makes sense." 

It was James's turn to laugh. 

"Shh," she admonished him. "I'm trying to learn something, here. Okay, the Veyron has an 8.0 litre W16 engine. What else?" 

"It also has cross-drilled, turbine-vented carbon rotor brakes," Richard told her. 

"No, don't tell me," she held up one hand, half-joking. "I can figure this one out. Cross-drilled I know, it's the holes drilled through the rotors. I had a set of those after I lost my brakes going down a steep hill one time; paranoia made me splash out on the cross-drilled ones after that. Turbine-vented I'm guessing...super air cooled?" 

James nodded. "Well done." 

"I hope I'm not shocking you horribly with my lack of expertise." 

"We rather thought you didn't know much, to be honest," Richard admitted. "I was wondering how you wound up working with a bunch of car-mad gits." 

"I don't know much about the mechanics," Pip agreed. "But I like the aesthetics of cars. I like to think I have very good taste," she grinned. "The first car I ever fell in love with was an Austin-Healey 100-Six, and the second was a Triumph TR3." 

Richard nodded, one eyebrow raised. "Not bad. What else?" 

"I'm a little embarrassed to admit I was hung up on Corvettes all through high school. Does it help that I really wanted the 1954 roadster?" 

"Not much," Jeremy snorted. "Ridiculous engine. Useless suspension." 

"It was pretty good for its time," Richard objected. "And even _you_ have to admit the styling was fantastic." 

"It was and is beautiful," Pip said firmly. "And now it's my turn to play inquisitor. James, I remember seeing an episode where you made the theme song out of engine notes, and it was really clear you have excellent pitch. Probably perfect pitch, I bet. Did you study music at all?" 

"At university, yes." 

"What instruments?" 

James glanced at Jeremy and grimaced, obviously expecting a comment from that direction. "Flute and piano." 

"I'd love to hear you play sometime, especially the piano. Who's your favourite composer, when you sit down to play for the joy of it?" 

James pondered it for a moment. "Chopin, I suppose. And Bach."

"Jeremy," Pip said suddenly, turning to him and catching him in the middle of a very exaggeratedly put-upon yawn. "Do you have kids?" 

He regarded her for a moment, and then said, "Yes. Three." 

"I don't know where you live--do you get to go home nights when you're filming in Dunsfold?" 

"No, I stay in London. Who wants another coffee--" 

"It must be hard for you to spend so much time away from them," she said softly, "When you add in all the times you're travelling to various locations as well." 

Surprised into an honest answer, Jeremy replied, "It was harder when they were younger. They don't have as much time for their old man these days." 

Pip smiled. "I remember being a teenager. They'll think you're nothing more than a walking wallet for a while, and then you'll be back to being a beloved dad again." 

Jeremy chuckled. "Not for years yet, I should imagine." 

"Richard," she turned on the love seat, facing him. "Why a farm?" 

"Ehm..." He looked a bit bewildered. "Why not?" 

"No, I mean, why did you want to live on a farm, rather than in an apartment in the city?" 

"I can't stand the city," he said immediately. "Not for long, at any rate. I like having land I can run about on, I need lots of garage space for my cars and bikes, and I like to have animals. I love the peace and quiet in the country, I like to do things myself and get my hands dirty. I'd rather be wearing a pair of muddy wellies than a pair of idiotic green Prada boots." He studiously avoided looking at Jeremy. 

"I'll have you know those are the height of fashion," Jeremy objected.

Pip grinned but left it alone. "What kinds of animals do you have?" 

"Currently, three dogs--including Top Gear Dog, of course--two cats, and a handful of chickens. Oh, and the one rooster who's walking a fine line of survival. Once the place is ready, I'll get some sheep and maybe a couple of horses." 

"That sounds lovely," Pip said wistfully. "You'll have to bring some pictures of your animals in." 

Richard set his empty coffee cup down on the low table in front of him, and then leaned his elbow on the arm of the love seat, his head on his hand. "You should just come down sometime and meet them for yourself." 

"I'd like that." 

"Pip," James asked suddenly, "You do realise it rains a lot in England, don't you? Almost incessantly, in fact?" 

She looked taken aback at the change in subject. "Well, I've heard that, yes, but the past two weeks have been lovely--" 

"An anomaly," he said darkly. "It's November soon, and we'll be lucky to get more than three days of sunshine in the entire month. Not to mention how early it gets dark. Are you honestly planning on riding your bicycle sixteen miles a day in pouring, freezing rain and dark?" 

"Yes?" 

"It's an utterly ridiculous idea, and you're going to get yourself run over."

"I'm not saying it's going to be pleasant," she said, "But I haven't much choice. The bus goes nowhere near the aerodrome, and I need to be able to come and go when _I_ need to, not when the bus allows. I'll pick up a rain suit and a headlight for my bike, though." 

Richard slouched deeper into the corner of the love seat. "You could borrow my Land--" 

"No," Pip said, shaking her head. 

"Just until you get--" 

"No," she repeated, adamant. "Thank you for the offer, it's incredibly kind, but I couldn't. I'll be fine on my bike. I'll hit the shops in Guildford for a headlight and some reflectors, and there's got to be a store in town that sells tools so I can install them. Pliers and wrenches and things." 

"Spanners," James said. "They're not wrenches, they're spanners." 

Pip cocked her head. "What an odd name. You use them to wrench on nuts or bolts or whatever, why on earth wouldn't you call them wrenches? You don't use them to 'span' on something." 

Jeremy began to laugh. "She's got you there, May." 

"Actually, I can tell you why they're called spanners--" 

"Please god, noooo!" Jeremy moaned. "Change the subject, Flip, he's got an OCD thing about spanners. He's got them precision-hung in his shed and if one gets moved, the earth ceases to revolve or something." 

"Symmetry makes me happy," James said haughtily.

Pip grinned. "You'd hate my apartment, then. It's a disaster zone." 

"I thought you were the queen of organization?" 

"I am--for other people. But I can't keep myself organized for more than ten minutes at a time," she admitted. "Don't ask me why. It's a bizarre phenomenon." 

"And I'm trusting my life to this woman." Jeremy covered his eyes with his hand. 

"No, you're trusting your _schedule_ to this woman. Your life is your own responsibility, pal." She bit her lip. "Sorry. You guys make it too easy to be casual with you." 

"I can't stand formality, so don't bother," Jeremy said. 

Pip nodded in thanks. "Speaking of schedules," she said, "I'm going to need to sit down with each of you sometime over the next few days--not tomorrow, I know that's filming day--and get you to tell me everything you've got set up so far, so I can put it in my calendar. Then I'll be able to take over for you, and you can stop worrying about it." 

"How exactly is this going to work?" James asked. 

"Well, you let me know all your commitments, personal and otherwise. Just when they are, I mean, you don't have to tell me _what_ , not when it's personal. From there I can look after all aspects of your shooting schedules with Andy, hammering out the whole thing to make it easiest for you, although don't tell him I said that. Then I can give you a detailed itinerary by day, week, whatever format you want. If you need appointments made, just tell me what and where, and I'll book it for you. Travel plans, I'll sort them out. If you need someone in to water your plants while you're away shooting something for Top Gear, I'll have it looked after. I'm there to run interference for you. You know when they say 'Have your people call my people'? I'm your people." 

James and Jeremy looked at each other, and then James asked, "Why didn't we have one of these before? She's better than sat-nav." 

"A Nissan Sunny is better than sat-nav. She's better than a Ferrari Mondial." 

"You don't like the Mondial." 

"No, but I love Ferrari. So she's better than the worst car of the best marque in the world." 

"That doesn't even make sense!" James protested. 

"Yes, it does! If she can get us through to January without me killing you or either of us killing Hammond, then she'll be better than the Maranello. And if we make it all the way to a year, she'll be better than the Enzo." 

James paused, and then looked at Pip. "That _is_ high praise," he admitted. 

A laugh bubbled up her throat. "I'll work on it, I promise." 

"Hammond, if-- Oh, you're joking," Jeremy said. "Richard. _Richard_." He began to chuckle. 

Pip looked over to see Richard fast asleep, his head still leaning on his hand, although just barely. "Aww. He's had a rough day, poor guy." 

"Wake him up and send him home," Jeremy decided. "It's going to be a long day tomorrow anyway." 

"You can't let him drive like this," she protested. "What if he falls asleep on the way home?" 

"Oh, cock," James sighed. "She's right, Jez. If he fell asleep drinking coffee and in the same room as _you_..." 

"Are you referring to my dulcet tones? Well, what do you intend to do? I'm not driving him home, I've got a family to go to." 

James gave him two fingers. "Fine, I'll drive him." 

"That won't work," Pip pointed out. "His car will be here, and I don't have my bike." 

"Oh, _cock_." 

"Listen, he can..." She hesitated. "Would it be really inappropriate to offer him a spot on my sofa?" she asked. "He was going to have to drive all the way back to pick me up tomorrow anyway." 

"Planning on molesting him in his sleep?" Jeremy asked. 

"Of course not!" she said, aghast. 

"Fine with me, then. Just make sure he gets in on time for filming. See you tomorrow." With that, Jeremy rose and left. 

James shook his head. "Pillock. Are you sure, Pip? I'm sure with a bit of mental fortitude we could sort something else out." 

"It's fine. I slept on my sofa for a week until my bed was delivered, it's really quite comfortable, so he won't be a wreck tomorrow. Besides, then he can sleep in a bit longer if he doesn't have to drive to come get me. After his water heater issue last night, I'm sure he needs it." 

"Quite probably. All right, I'll at least help you get him awake and semi-mobile." James leaned over to push Richard's head off his hand. "Oi. Hammond," he said loudly. 

Richard's head dropped and then snapped up, and he said, "Sprouts. What?" He blinked slowly. 

"I don't want to know what you were dreaming, mate," James huffed a laugh. "Wake up, it's time to vacate the pub."

"Hmm? Oh. Right. See you tomorrow." He leaned his head on the arm of the love seat and closed his eyes. 

Pip tried the 'annoying' method. "Richard. Richard. Richard. Richard." 

He opened one eye. " _What?_ " 

"This isn't where you sleep. Come on, let's go for a walk." 

His eye closed again. "Bugger off. And feed the chickens, will you?" 

She sat back in defeat. "Would a bucket of cold water work?" 

"The pub frowns on you soaking their furniture," James pointed out. "This ought to work." He leaned in close, his mouth next to Richard's ear. "The Zonda F?" he said loudly. "No, Hammond can't drive it, he's asleep." 

Richard sat bolt upright. "'M not asleep! I'm here! What?" He looked up at James blearily. "Where's the Zonda?" 

"It's at Pip's house," James said. "You'd better hurry." He turned to Pip and with a grin said, "That should do it. Just don't let him close his eyes again. You know where you are from here?" 

"Yeah, I'm right up the High Street, actually. Thanks, James," she smiled.

"Right-o. See you in the morning, then. Goodnight, Richard." He exited out of the lounge. 

Richard was struggling to his feet. "Goodnight? You've only just woken me up!" He turned to Pip and plaintively asked, "Why is the Zonda at your house?" 

She shook her head and handed him the last of her now-cold coffee. "You are in rough shape, my friend. Drink this." 

Richard drank, and made a face. "Eugh! God, how much sugar do you use?" He looked marginally more awake. 

"Lots, when the coffee's strong enough to stand a spoon in. Are you ready to tackle a short walk, then?" 

He scrubbed his hands over his face and through his hair a few times. "I feel like something the cat dragged in. Did I say anything too stupid?" 

"You mean other than selling all your cars and buying a hot air balloon?" 

He goggled at her. "Did I really say that?" 

"No," she grinned. "Come on, follow me." 

"That's just cruel," he muttered, dutifully following her. "You ought not to trifle with a bloke like that. Especially one who's got brain damage." 

"Poor angel," she murmured. They went up to the bar, and Richard asked the woman behind it what he owed. She handed him a bill. 

"What? Those bastards! Those utter, thieving, cocking bastards." He began to laugh. "They stiffed me for the entire cheque. Well, I reckon that will teach me to fall asleep; I'm lucky they didn't shave one of my eyebrows off."

"Don't worry, I was there to protect your facial hair," Pip grinned as he paid the bill. "However, you might want to check for a sign on your back, because I did go to the ladies' room at one point."

After pocketing his receipt, they walked outside, and Richard began to head for the car park. 

Pip grabbed his arm and steered him the other direction. "This way. You're sleeping on my sofa tonight."

"I'm what?" Richard stopped dead in his tracks.

She turned a bit pink, but gamely said, "The three of us decided you were in no condition to drive. I can't drive your car, and if one of them took you home, both your car and I would be stuck here in the morning. The only sensible solution is for you to crash at my place tonight, and drive us both in to Dunsfold in the morning."

"Oh. But I'm awake now. I could just drive home."

"Richard?"

"Yes?"

"Close your eyes."

He did as she instructed, and it didn't take long before he began to sway.

She put her hand on his arm to steady him, and when he opened his bleary eyes, she gently said, "You're not driving. Come on, I'm just around the corner."

"Perhaps," he said, knuckling at his eye, "Perhaps that would be best."

Pip led him around the corner onto the High Street, and as promised, it was a short walk down to the door to her flat, situated above a café. She unlocked the door and led the way in, pausing on the bottom step to ask him to lock the door behind him. There wasn't enough room for her to get past to do it herself. At the top of the stairs, she unlocked the secondary door that led into the flat itself.

"Make yourself at home," she said, gesturing around. "Bathroom's upstairs, kitchen's through there. Help yourself to anything in the fridge, if you're hungry or thirsty. I'll be down in a minute." She ran up the stairs to the bedroom.

Richard looked around the living room; it was small, with beige walls and carpet and a small non-working fireplace opposite the single window. Currently it was only furnished with a sofa, an end table, a guitar case, piles of books, and one photograph on the wall. Richard crossed the tiny room to look at it. Matted in white with a plain black frame, the black and white photo was of an ornate wrought iron and glass domed ceiling. 

Pip re-entered the room carrying sheets, a blanket, and a pillow.

"That's a lovely photo," Richard commented, turning to take the pillow from her.

"Thanks. Took that one up in Scotland several years ago."

"That's yours?" he asked in some surprise. "Are you interested in photography?"

"I love it," she smiled. "I nearly went back to school for it instead of moving here, but I figured I could always take a course or two around here somewhere."

"What kind of camera do you shoot with?"

She raised one eyebrow. "You're a photographer yourself?" At his look, she added, "No one else asks what you 'shoot' with."

"Studied it at college, as a matter of fact," he grinned. "Along with painting. The most useless degree in history."

Pip laughed. "Mine comes a close second. I majored in English and theatre. I have a Nikon F60."

"That's a--"

"Film camera? Yep. I haven't joined the digital age, at least, not yet. I was saving up for one, but I ended up using those funds on moving costs." While she spoke, she spread the sheets out over her sofa, putting the blanket at one end and taking the pillow back from Richard to place it at the other end. "What do you have?"

"I've got the new D300 on order," he told her, pleased. "I get it next month, and it's going to be bloody brilliant. I got the two to four hundred millimetre zoom as well, for shooting at the track. I'll bring it in when I get it, show it to you."

"That would be awesome." She nearly matched his enthusiasm. "That's a fantastic camera. A guy I did some work for a couple years ago had the D200 when it first came out, and he let me borrow it for a day to shoot some portraits. It was unreal."

"I haven't bought a new one since the D70 in, what, '04, I think it was. And that was my first digital, I'd clung to film up until then, since that was what I knew inside and out." Richard suddenly yawned, widely. "Sorry."

"No, no, I'm sorry, I'm keeping you up. I just have to make my lunch for tomorrow, so why don't you use the bathroom first? I left a new toothbrush on the shelf beside the sink for you."

Richard looked at her, squinting. "Why are you making a lunch?"

"Um. Because I get a bit famished if I don't eat from eight until six?"

"But--they feed us," he said, confused. "Didn't you get my lunch from the craft services table today?"

"Well, yes, but I didn't think..." She coloured. "I'm...fairly low on the pecking order."

"Didn't Andy tell you? What a useless twat. Of _course_ you can get your lunch from the table. The whole crew does."

She hesitated. "Are you sure?"

"Positive. No need to pack a lunch."

"Wow," she smiled. "I'm there two days, and there's already perks. This job's getting better and better by the minute."

"Best job in the world," Richard agreed, and then yawned again.

"All right, enough chat. Go on up and use the bathroom." She pointed up the stairs and waited until he'd climbed them. While he was gone, she turned on the lamp that sat on the end table beside the sofa, and turned off the overhead light. From the kitchen she fetched a tall glass of water, and left that on the end table beside the lamp for Richard. Hesitating, with a second glance at the untidy piles of books scattered about, she hurried around stacking them more neatly and pushing them to the side, out of the way.

"Don't fuss on my account," Richard said from behind her.

"Oh!" she squeaked, whirling around. "God, you scared me."

"Sorry," he chuckled. "Had you already forgotten I was here?"

"Hardly," she said, attempting to draw her dignity around her again. "I just wasn't expecting you to creep up on me."

"Sorry," he said again, patting her arm as he walked by. "Relax, Pip, I'm a very undemanding houseguest. Have you got any mineral water? Still, if possible."

"Um--no, sorry, I--"

Richard grinned. "Kidding."

She flushed. "You--"

"Ah, ah," he warned her. "Remember who's driving you to work in the morning. Are these the books you couldn't leave home without?"

"I--you--" she stammered, thrown off-guard. "Yes. Some. Others I've bought here."

"Pick a favourite of the ones you brought with you," he suggested, sitting on top of the sheets on the sofa. "Just in case I wake up early."

Pip stared at him for a minute, then walked over to the piles and regarded them briefly. She pulled out a pocketbook and tossed it at him.

" _Good Omens_ ," he read off the cover. "Looks a little odd, but I'll give it a try. Oh, and I have eggs for breakfast every morning. An omelet will be fine."

"I-umm--"

He looked at her from under his fringe. "Kidding." He smiled cheekily.

"Augh!" Pip growled. She gave him the finger and turned on her heel, marching upstairs.

"Goodnight, Princess!" Richard called gleefully.

"Sleep well, _Hamster_ ," she called back.

Richard's groan followed her up the stairs.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pip puts her foot in her mouth, meets the Stig, and is set up by Clarkson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A massive thank you to [foxtales](http://archiveofourown.org/users/foxtales/profile) for the beta, encouragement, and excellent enabling. This fandom wouldn't be nearly as much fun without you, hon. ♥ ♥ ♥

Pip shouldered her way into the portakabin, relieved to find she was the first one there. Richard had stopped by Andy's office first to pick up the revised scripts, so she quickly put the kettle on and began to unpack her backpack. She heard the door open behind her. "Did you see what I did with my notebook this morning?"

"I thought I told you to bin the useless thing?" Jeremy asked.

"Oh!" She jumped. "Good morning, Jeremy. Sorry, I thought you were Richard."

"Not a mistake very many people make. You might want to get your specs checked."

"I'll get right on that," she said dryly. "And the notebook is just until I know how to use all the features on the BlackBerry with my eyes closed. I'm getting better with it, but I'm not quite there yet."

He hung up his jacket and crossed to look at an article about the Chinese MG 7 that James had tacked on the wall the day before. "Rubbish," he declared. "An absolute cock-up from start to finish. What do you think, Flip?"

She walked over to look, and made a face. "That's an MG? It looks like a boring old Pontiac! What a rip-off."

"Not precisely the argument I would have used, but a valid point nonetheless."

"What argument would you have used?"

"It only has one hundred and seventy brake horsepower!" he complained loudly.

She looked up at him. "That doesn't sound like much. How much does a Chevy Cavalier have? That was my last car."

Jeremy rolled his eyes. "I've tried to block that useless piece of dross from my memory."

Pip grinned at him. "You mean you don't know. And by the way, for the cost of it, that Chev was my best car." She picked up her BlackBerry and, a few minutes later, exclaimed, "My Cavalier had one-fifty! You can't give something a sports car name like MG and then only give it twenty more horsepower than a ruddy Cavalier!"

Richard walked in on the last sentence. "What are you two arguing about?" he asked, shedding his coat.

"We're not, we're agreeing," Pip said.

"Oh, god. Why does that scare me?"

"Because you're feeble?" Jeremy suggested.

"Cockface."

"Sleep well with Flip last night?" he asked archly.

"Hey!" Pip protested. "Don't drag me into this."

Richard waved two fingers under Jeremy's nose, then slapped him on the stomach with his script. "Run-through?"

"Yeah." Jeremy sat at the table and patted his pockets down until he came up with his reading glasses. "Flip, you be May until he drags his sorry arse in."

"Do you want me to call him?" she asked, fetching the tea to set on the table between the two men.

"No, give him another ten minutes. If he's not here by then, I'll bloody well shoot him with a very large gun. We must, I repeat must, be on schedule today, or Dame Helen's people will have our guts for garters."

Pip froze. "Dame Helen?"

"Mirren," Richard added. "She's been in--"

"I know who she is!" Pip's voice was slightly squeaky. "Are you telling me your Star In A Reasonably Priced Car is Dame Helen bloody _Mirren?_ "

Jeremy looked at Richard with one eyebrow raised. 

"Pip," Richard said, grinning, "Would you like to meet her?"

"Oh my god, no," she said quickly, sitting down and shaking her head. "I'd just make an utter ass out of myself."

Jeremy opened his mouth but, rather astoundingly, closed it again when Richard shot him a look. 

"You could take her in some biscuits while she's waiting," Richard suggested. "No pressure, just, you know, 'hello, Dame, would you like a Hob Nob'?"

" _Hello, Dame?_ " Pip repeated weakly, then dropped her head on her arms with a long groan.

James chose that moment to walk in, and took in the scene at a glance as he closed the door. "All right, Clarkson, what did you say to her this time?"

"I didn't say a thing!" Jeremy protested, putting on a hurt face. "Why do you automatically assume everything to be my fault?"

James shrugged. "Because it usually is. What's going on, then, chaps? And chapess?" he added.

Pip lifted her head and looked at him, her forehead scrunched. "Chapess? That's not actually a real word, is it?"

"Ah, no. Not actually."

"Well, that's a relief, at least."

Richard leaned back in his chair. "I'm just trying to convince Pip that she can meet Helen Mirren this afternoon if she wants. She doesn't seem keen on the idea."

Jeremy held up his script. "Can we get _on_ with it?"

"I'm coming, don't get your undergarments in a twist," James complained, crossing to get himself a mug from the cupboard. "Not a fan of Dame Helen, Pip?" he asked.

"I _love_ her," Pip said fervently.

He glanced over his shoulder at her, puzzled. "Then why on earth wouldn't you want to meet her?"

"Because I would act like an absolute moron, just like I did my first time meeting you three. Only worse."

Richard said, "Oh, you did not," just as Jeremy chimed in with, "That _would_ be humiliating."

Pip glared at Jeremy as James chuckled, "Good to know we're not as intimidating as Helen Mirren, then."

"That's not it," Pip shook her head, then added, "Well, not entirely, anyway. But she's a real actor's actor, and you guys are just--" She stopped short. 

Richard raised one eyebrow, suppressing a grin. "I'm curious to hear how that sentence ends."

"I like that," Jeremy complained. "We're _just_. No, lads, I'm terribly sorry, but we don't want you hosting Top Gear anymore. You're _just_."

"No, no, no," Pip said quickly. "You guys aren't _just_ anything, and you know it. But it's different, you know? I mean, I'd love to be an actor, where I take someone else's script and be that character, live inside that character, like Helen Mirren does. You guys are out there being _yourselves_ , script or no. You don't have that safe distance, that ability to say 'no, that's not what I'm really like, I was just acting'. You're more...I don't know. Real. And that's something I could never do." She looked at them earnestly, and a bit nervously. "You know what I mean?"

James walked over and took a seat at the table. "It's not that hard, really. You just do your research, decide what you're talking about, and then talk about it. I should think it takes a fair bit more work to learn to be someone else." 

"More work, maybe, but I don't have to come up with the words. I don't have to try and think of what to say; I'm just not quick enough for that. You guys are really good at it, though." She smiled at them lopsidedly. "So why don't you show me how it's done. It _is_ read-through time, after all."

"About bloody time, too," Jeremy declared. "Page one; intro. 'Hello, and welcome to Top Gear,'" he began in a monotone. "'In the current climate, it's important to reassure you all that everything you see on this show is for real.' Richard climbs on box."

"Another bloody height joke," Richard complained. "Haven't we had enough of those yet? Honestly, it's aging about as well as you are, Clarkson, and that's not saying much--"

"We've already been through this," Jeremy pointed out, annoyed. "It's just a visual gag."

"At _my_ expense."

"Well, yes," James said, as if that explained everything. "Don't worry, Richard, we'll get to my hair and Jeremy's paunch later."

"Promise?"

" _Do_ shut up, Hammond," Jeremy said despairingly.

"Right. Sorry. 'Nothing on this show is faked in any way.'" He said his line with utter insincerity.

Pip grinned. It was going to be a great day.

 

  
"What do you think?" Andy asked her. She was following his previous instructions and shadowing the boys, who were currently doing a run-through of the script on set, a rehearsal for all the techies and camera men as well as a blocking walk-through for the presenters themselves.

Pip watched as the three men in question burst into gales of laughter. Richard threw back his head in one of his true belly laughs, James was leaning over with his hands on his thighs, and Jeremy staggered sideways to sit on the edge of the platform stage, wiping his eyes. She cocked her head. "I think that I don't quite see how this show ever makes it to air, let alone as a top quality product."

Andy couldn't quite repress a smug smile. "Because we have the best fucking team in the whole of the BBC. Think you can live up to that?"

Pip felt her stomach knot up, but calmly said, "Soon, yes."

"Soon." Andy nodded. "Good answer. Don't be afraid to say you don't know something, unless it's out of laziness. In which case, be very afraid." He grinned wolfishly and moved off, shouting at the three presenters to get back to work.

Pip swallowed, wiping damp palms on the hips of her trousers, and watched the rest of the rehearsal extra carefully.

After it was over, there was a general retreat to the portakabin for a quick lunch followed by several energy drinks for Richard, James and Jeremy, who then changed into the clothes they'd chosen to wear for the day's filming. Jeremy insisted that Pip join him in the tiny corner of the wardrobe room where their make-up was done, one at a time.

"What if Hannah here gets hit by a bus?" he demanded. Hannah, in the process of powdering his forehead, rolled her eyes. "Someone will have to fill in temporarily, won't they? Richard's worn enough make-up in the past to be a fucking expert, but he says he won't do it, the lazy ponce. And I need someone to make me look not-undead."

"You need an embalmer," Richard said, only his head poking through the open doorway. "Pip, can I borrow you for a second?"

"No, you can't," Jeremy objected. "She's learning how to do my make-up."

Richard looked sceptical. "Why?"

"Apparently I'm going to be hit by a bus," Hannah said, unconcerned. 

"What?"

"Not _going_ to," Jeremy said with an air of long-suffering. "I said 'what if'. _If._ Does nobody fucking listen anymore?"

"Not to you," Richard said cheerfully. "And if karma exists, _you'll_ get hit by the bus. A solar-powered bus. Full of environmentalists. On their way to a bicycle race."

"Could I be hit by the bus whilst driving a fully-fueled Ford Pinto that explodes in a fiery death-ball of automotive destruction?" Jeremy asked hopefully.

"No. Come on, Pip, I've got someone for you to meet." Richard made sure she was following, then led her out to the hallway. "Pip, this is--"

"The Stig!" she squeaked, stopping short at the sight of the iconic white racing suit and black-visored white helmet.

Richard grinned. "You did sign a confidentiality clause in your contract, right?"

"Well, yes--"

"Excellent. Stig, this is Pip, our new assistant. Pip, this is..." He paused as the Stig removed his helmet, revealing matted brown hair, grey eyes, and a dimpled smile. "...Ben Collins, our tame racing driver." 

"You _are_ the Stig!" Pip exclaimed, shaking Ben's hand when he held it out to her. "It's so nice to meet you!"

"Pleasure's all mine," he said with a smile. "You've heard the speculation, then?"

"On several different people. I always thought you made the most sense, though."

Richard snorted. "You're the only one, then. He's mad as a hatter, he is."

Ben laughed. "Only on alternate Tuesdays. The rest of the time I'm perfectly sane. Mostly."

"Sanity isn't all it's cracked up to be," Pip dead-panned.

"Ah-ha, someone who shares _your_ philosophy, Rich," Ben grinned.

"Prat. How did it go with Dame Helen?"

"Good," Ben nodded. "She did all right, for one of the older girls we've had on. I think she had more fun than she let on."

"What's she like?" Pip asked, curiosity and awe mingled on her face.

"She's lovely," Ben smiled. "Friendly, easy to chat with, and can swear like a bloody navvy. I'd love to buy her a pint, I would."

"I _knew_ it," Pip beamed. "I knew she'd be absolutely marvellous."

"Pip, for God's sake, just introduce yourself to her already," Richard grumbled good-naturedly. "You heard him, she's friendly and easy to chat with. You'll be fine."

She shook her head back and forth quickly. "No. No, no. I've only been here three days, I'm not used to famous people yet."

Ben tried to stifle a snigger and failed.

"What?" After a moment, her face fell. "Oh, shit. I'm just buggering everything up today. I didn't mean--" She looked pleadingly at Richard. "I didn't mean that you guys aren't famous. But she's a movie star, and you're--"

" _Just?_ " Richard teased.

"No! No, dammit! You're television stars, but we don't get much BBC at home, so all I've ever seen of you guys is Top Gear. I didn't know--" She flushed and, much to her vexation, her eyes began to prickle. "I'm sorry. Please don't fire me."

"Fire you?" Richard was genuinely surprised. "Why on earth would we do that?"

"Because I keep horribly insulting you guys when I'm trying to be complimentary! I'm so sorry!" she wailed.

Ben looked sympathetic, but also amused. "Have you even _met_ Jeremy Clarkson?"

"But--"

"He's right," Richard cut her off. "We are not going to fire you just because you may occasionally catch foot-in-mouth disease. Hell, that's how half of Jeremy's scripts get started. Pip, Jez and James are both irascible, grumpy old bastards, and I'm a ratty, much, much younger bastard." He grinned. "The odd insult, intentional or otherwise, won't even show up on the _radar_ , let alone knock us off our stride. All right?"

She gave him a little nod and feebly said, "All right. I'm sorry."

"You must be Canadian," Ben teased.

Richard laughed. "You noticed too, then?"

Pip looked at each of the men in turn. "Sorry, what?"

Ben pretended to be amazed, but couldn't keep a straight face. "Is she for real?" he asked Richard.

Richard was grinning widely. "Believe it or not, yes. Right, Pip?"

Her forehead wrinkling, she said, "I'm sorry, but I don't know--"

Both men burst out laughing. 

She glared at them, slowly starting to find her footing again. "I don't think I like you anymore."

"Richard, or me?" Ben asked, still chuckling.

"Either of you." She folded her arms across her chest.

"But you've only just met me!"

"And you've spent an inordinate amount of that time laughing at me."

"Well," Richard said with one of his well-practised sheepish smiles, "You _do_ say 'sorry' quite a bit."

"I do not--" At that precise moment, James, trying to get past, bumped her from behind. She looked over her shoulder and automatically said, "Sorry," before taking a step out of the way. She turned back to Richard and Ben to find them once again laughing at her.

Pip sighed. "I totally just busted myself, didn't I?"

"A bit, yeah," Richard snickered.

"Do you say 'eh' a lot, too?" Ben asked, dimples very much in evidence.

She debated denying it, but decided to come clean. "All the time. I might as well walk around with a maple leaf tattooed on my forehead, eh, Ben?"

"Stig," Ben and Richard both corrected her at the same time.

"Always call him Stig," Richard explained. "That way you'll not slip up and let his identity out, or be overheard by people hiding behind the shrubbery, or something."

Pip cocked her head. "Do people often hide behind the shrubbery here?"

"You'd be surprised," Richard said wryly.

She made a face, but nodded. "Stig it is, then."

"Right. On that note," Ben said cheerfully, "I must be off. Pip, it was nice to meet you, and I'll see you both next week."

"It was nice to meet you too, ehm, Stig," she replied, stumbling a bit over the name.

"Don't worry," he laughed. "You'll get used to it." He pulled his helmet back on, sketched a wordless salute, and left.

 

The taping of the News of the Week in front of the studio audience went fairly smoothly. Pip kept to the back of the studio, listening to Jeremy, James and Richard mock Fifth Gear, James's comfort level with their 'new' furniture, and Bentley's ability to put wheel nuts on their cars. When they started going on about wanking behind the wheel of a car, she laughed out loud right along with the audience. The whole time, though, she also kept an eye on the technical aspects of filming in order to try and understand the whole process, whilst being careful not to get in the way of any actual audience members.

After the segment was finished, Pip was surprised to see Jeremy threading his way through the thinnest point of the crowd, making straight for her.

"Flip," he said quietly yet urgently. "I've left my phone in the green room, and I'll need it in a bit. Can you run and fetch it for me?"

"Of course. Be right back."

"Brilliant, thanks." He hurried back toward the set.

Pip exited through an unobtrusive door behind her, traversing the length of the corridor to the green room, which she had been shown earlier. She took three steps in and stopped cold.

Seated on the sofa, a cup of tea in her hand, was Dame Helen Mirren.

Pip swallowed, her cheeks suddenly pink. "Ehm--hello," she said weakly.

Dame Helen smiled. "Hello." When Pip said nothing else for a long moment, she inquired, "Are they ready for me?"

"No. I mean--not yet. I don't think it will be long, though," Pip managed, and then fell silent again, racking her brain for something halfway intelligent to say.

"That's fine," Dame Helen said. After another long pause, she politely said, "Would you care to sit down?"

"Oh!" Pip started. "No, thank you. I just came to get Jeremy's phone, he said he left it in here. Although I'm starting to think he set me up." She flushed even more.

"What a curious thing to say." Dame Helen smiled again, intrigued. "Set you up for what?" 

"Complete and total embarrassment, most likely. Possibly utter humiliation, although I'm not sure. I've only been here three days, I haven't got everyone figured out yet, but it wouldn't surprise me if he enjoyed a little bit of friendly humiliation." She clenched her fists at her side. "I'm sorry, I'm babbling."

"You are, somewhat, but do go on. And please, sit down for just a moment."

Pip sat, perched on the edge of the sofa. "Th-thank you."

"What's your name?" Dame Helen asked as she leaned forward to pour another cup of tea from the small pot on the table, her hair swinging across her face.

"I'm sorry, my name is Pip. It's a huge pleasure to meet you, Dame Helen, I absolutely love your work," she said in a rush.

"Thank you, that's very kind. And do call me Helen," she said, handing the tea to Pip. "'Dame' makes me feel a hundred years old. Now, what did Jeremy set you up for? Meeting me, I presume, since I'm the only thing in here other than his phone and that rather disappointing pot of tea."

"Yes," Pip said, turning bright red. "I told him--all of them--that I didn't want to meet you because--well, as you can see, I'm not very good at this." She looked down at her tea and nervously took a sip even though it lacked her usual milk and sugar.

"Not very good at what?" Helen asked.

"Meeting someone I admire without making a complete idiot out of myself," she weakly admitted.

"Nonsense, you're charming. What do you do here, Pip?"

"I--I'm personal assistant to James, Jeremy and Richard."

Helen's lips quirked. "You poor child. And where are you from?"

"Near Toronto in Ontario, Canada," Pip replied, taking a deep breath to try and calm the butterflies in her stomach. "Have you ever been there?"

"Toronto? Oh, yes, several times," Helen said easily, relaxing against the arm of the sofa. "A bit too cold for my tastes, but not nearly as _weird_ ," she made a face as she said it, "as Los Angeles. I'm used to Americans--my husband is American, you know--but they're a breed apart in L.A."

"They're a breed apart here, too, believe me," Pip blurted.

Helen laughed. "One does get that impression."

The door opened just then, and Adrian, the assistant floor manager, poked his head in. "We're ready for you, ma'am. I'll show you where to stand while Jeremy introduces you."

"Coming." Helen set down her cup of tea and rose. "Pip, it was lovely to meet you."

Pip leaped to her feet. "It was wonderful to meet you, too, Dame--I mean, Helen. Ehm--thank you. For being so kind."

"Not at all. And don't worry, you'll have Jeremy sorted out soon, I feel quite sure of it." With a quick, warm smile, she followed Adrian down the hall to the studio.

With a whoosh of breath, Pip sank down onto the sofa, bewildered, embarrassed, and elated all at once. She had just spent time talking to an _Oscar_ winner. Maybe--just maybe--she wouldn't kill Jeremy after all.

Remembering her errand, she picked up Jeremy's mobile and hurried back to the studio on the off chance that it hadn't been a complete set-up and he really did need his phone.

As things were being readied to film the Star In A Reasonably Priced Car segment in which they weren't needed, James and Richard had disappeared. Jeremy stood in the middle of the set, talking to the floor director. Glancing up to see Dame Helen being ushered into the audience to make her way forward, Jeremy raised his head and began scanning the back of the studio. Pip could tell the exact moment his eyes alighted on her. He grinned and hopped down off the stage.

Pip waited, expecting this time to see Jeremy making his way towards her. She held out his phone as he approached.

"Ah, you found it all right, then?" he asked gleefully, pocketing the mobile without a second glance, confirming Pip's suspicion.

"Yes, I did, you sneaky, conniving, traitorous, devious..." she spluttered to a halt, unable to think of any more adjectives.

"Don't forget altruistic and brilliantly sly," he laughed, pleased with himself, before turning away to stride back to the stage.

Shaking her head, Pip resigned herself to the fact that her professional life was shaping up to be filled with a lot of juvenile humour, embarrassment, and--not necessarily unpleasant--surprises.

 

"So?" Richard asked with a grin, having heard about the plot from Jeremy after filming was over. "Was she lovely and easy to chat with?"

Pip hoisted her backpack up onto her shoulders and snorted. "Yes, of course she was. I, however, was most definitely _not_." She glared at Jeremy, who was entirely unconcerned about it.

"Well, at least you've learned an important lesson," James said. "You can't trust Clarkson as far as you can throw him."

"Pish tosh," Jeremy denied.

Richard stared at him in disbelief. " _'Pish tosh'_? Yes, thank you, Bertie Wooster."

"Pillock."

"Cockface."

"Short-arse." Jeremy shot back.

"Bastard!"

"Teeth-whitener."

"I have not had my teeth whitened!" Richard shouted.

Jeremy looked triumphant. "Flip, you will thank me for my machinations later, trust me. Because you are now in charge of tea for the Star every week."

Pip gaped at him. "I'm _what_?"

James frowned. "What if _we_ need her?"

"It's just tea, you plonk. She'll still be underfoot."

"Underfoot?" she said hotly. 

Richard began to laugh. "Don't worry, Pip. They say the first Star is always the hardest."

"That doesn't even make sense!" she wailed, throwing her hands up in the air. "You don't understand, I was a complete twit in there! I sounded like an idiot!"

Jeremy opened his mouth to say something, but James cut him off. "Are you saying you _can't_ do it, Pip?" He crossed his arms on his chest.

All three of them looked at her.

Pip stood straighter. "Well--I mean, of course I _can_ , but--"

"Good, problem solved," Jeremy said loudly. "Wrap at the pub?"

"Yes," James said, turning away to put his coat on.

"Bloody stupid question," Richard said, rubbing his hands together. "Pip, I brought the Rover today, so both you and your bike are coming with me."

"But--"

"Part of the job, Flip," Jeremy rode over her objection in his bulldozer-ish way. "We discuss the filming and start cooking up ideas for next week over a few pints."

"Oh. Well, okay, then. But I--"

Richard grinned at her. "You might as well just smile and nod."

Pip sighed, her good humour beginning to win out. "You three are the proverbial immovable objects, aren't you?"

"Best you learn that early, my girl," Jeremy said sagely. "Now move your arse. I could murder a pint right now." He opened the door and practically shoved James through it.

Shaking her head, she followed Richard out the door, unlocking her bike from the post at the bottom of the steps. "Are you parked in the same place as yesterday?" she asked.

"Yeah, behind the warehouse." He started rooting through his bag for his car keys.

"Good. See you there, then." With a grin, she hopped on her bike and sped off.

"Hey!" Richard yelled. "That's entirely unfair!"

"Move your arse," she called back over her shoulder with a laugh. "Jeremy could murder a pint right now."


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pip tries to impose some order around the portakabin. James decides it's time she got a taste of speed, but is taken aback by her confession. Pip proves her job skills.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A massive thank you to [foxtales](http://archiveofourown.org/users/foxtales/profile) and for the betas, encouragement, and general enabling.

On Thursday morning, Pip arrived at the aerodrome early. She was tired thanks to the late night at the pub after filming the day before, but was determined to accomplish the serious cleaning she had planned for the portakabin.

Once inside, she shed her jacket and began unloading the supplies she'd brought. The past three days had given her enough time to look around and catalogue the disaster areas, and the night before she'd gotten permission from Jeremy (grudgingly), who hated change, and James (gladly), who detested dirt, to tackle the portakabin and beat it into shape. Richard didn't care either way, and only insisted she not throw out any of their bits of paper, claiming there might well be a bit of television genius scribbled on one of them.

Pip began in the makeup and wardrobe room--the smallest room and therefore the easiest to tackle. In the far corner was the makeup table, the surface littered with the boys' empty cups and Red Bull cans. She cleared the room of all the rubbish, hung all the jackets scattered about, and marked everything that had to go to the dry cleaner's. Pushing the wardrobe rack to the corner of the room, she folded up the ironing board and fetched the vacuum from the storage room to give the worn carpet a good going-over. She had spotted a small shelf lying on the floor in the store room, and having found the tool kit kept in the portakabin (for the purpose of heaven only knew what since everything in the place appeared to be broken), she hung the shelf near the makeup table and filled it with all the bits and pieces cluttering the room. With all that cleared away, the chargers for the walkie-talkies sat on the worktop, and the small table that was in the corner to hold them was removed entirely, creating more space in the room. With the ironing board set up again, the windows cleaned, and a quick spray of Febreze, she happily closed the door.

The green room got the same treatment. The vast majority of the mess was dirty dishes and mugs, and it didn't take Pip long to relocate those to the tiny kitchen in the main office. She gave the room a thorough dusting, including all the picture frames of the previous guests on the wall. With a lengthy vacuuming, a good tidy, and more of the Febreze, that room too was deemed acceptable.

Unlike their old portakabin, this one did not house the production team and their expensive computer equipment, which had been relocated to a large interior stock room inside the warehouse for security reasons. Instead, there was one long room with the conference table, a number of tables set up along one wall to hold a decrepit fax machine, one ageing computer, a printer, and a jumbled assortment of props and keepsakes from various episodes. At the short end of the room was the tiny and very basic kitchen--a bar fridge, sink, cupboards, coffeemaker and microwave.

This room--the 'office'--was the next to be tackled. Pip stood in the doorway surveying it for a moment, feeling slightly less optimistic. Housework was decidedly _not_ her favourite way to spend time, and while it was always nicer to clean up someone else's space for them, she was starting to run out of steam. A glance at the clock told her she likely had less than fifteen minutes before someone showed up, and there was no way she'd get the large room clean and tidy before they did. She decided to have a go at the dishes first, as they were the most noticeable mess in the room.

When Richard walked in a little while later, Pip was up to her elbows in dishwater, not even halfway through the pile of dirty plates, cutlery, and mugs.

Richard gazed around the room as he set his bag down on a chair. "It looks good in here, Pip."

She stared at him over her shoulder. "Is that your poker face, or are you serious?"

"Erm--which one is the right answer?" he hedged.

"I haven't even started in here yet!"

"Oh. Well, it...er, it looks comfortable. And familiar."

She chuckled. "Of course it looks familiar. It's the same mess you guys have been looking at for the past who knows how long."

"Years," he said wryly. "You'll find it's a bloody futile task, trying to keep us neat."

"I'll find a way to convince you," she promised with a smile. Turning back to the sink, she asked, "So what happens around here on Thursdays? No one's really said yet."

Richard poured himself a cup of tea from the pot Pip had left on the table. "Depends. Sometimes we'll shoot segments for the following week, sometimes we're off each doing our own thing, but often we're down at White City. Today Jez and I are on-track filming an Audi versus Porsche thing, and James...well, I'm not entirely sure what he's coming for, actually." He strolled over, took a tea towel from the drawer under the microwave, and began drying the mugs that Pip was washing.

"You don't have to do that," she protested.

He shrugged. "I'm sure some of them are mine, it's only fair I help. I can't do much until Clarkson shows up, anyway."

"Well...all right, thank you. I appreciate it." She put more plates from the stack into the sink. "Don't forget we need to sit down sometime soon and go over your schedule. I should start getting organised with that."

"It's only your first week," he reminded her. "Of course we can go through it, but you don't have to learn everything all at once."

She smiled at him. "I know. I'm just looking forward to playing a bit more of an active part. There's a good energy around here, and it makes a newbie like me want to be part of it."

"Don't worry," he said solemnly, "that wears off after a while."

Pip laughed. "That's not what Andy says. He says this is, and I quote, 'the best fucking team in the whole of the BBC'."

"Did he?" Richard looked surprised yet pleased. "He's not usually so effusive." He finished drying the mugs and put them in the cupboard before starting on the plates.

"Well, at the time you three were falling down laughing, so I suspect he was trying to convince me that actual professional work does occasionally go on around here."

"It's true. For a whole ten minutes a day, we are the most professional presenters you've ever seen."

"I bet," she snorted. She put the last of the dishes in the water and began to wash them. "This is going much faster with you helping out."

The door flew open and Jeremy strode in. "Good morning, fellow petrolheads. And Flip. Is the Audi here yet?"

"'Morning, Jez," Richard replied. "Yes, it's in the warehouse getting its final vetting."

"Vetting?" Pip queried, then added, "Hi, Jeremy."

"A thorough check," Richard answered her. "Make sure everything's in order before sending it screaming 'round the track."

"You're the only thing that's going to be screaming on that track, Hammond, as the Audi _thrashes_ your Porsche."

"Dream on, old man," Richard said mock-scornfully. "I spent all last weekend tuning it up, just to embarrass you on film. Again."

Pip looked surprised. "You're using your own car?"

"I am. It's just a short segment, so it wasn't worth trying to get one from Porsche. Much easier to just drive my own," he explained, stacking the plates on the shelf above the mugs.

"Better for the budget, too, if the bloody thing explodes," Jeremy added. "Unlike Porsche, _you_ we can just buy off."

"Think again, Clarkson. Remember, I know how much you make."

"And you can have all fifty quid. Are you fucking done being Anthea Turner? The lads are setting up the cameras."

Richard looked at him with one eyebrow raised. "Sod off. Don't you have to do your review of the Audi first?"

"I thought we decided to do the drag race first?" Jeremy demanded.

"Yes, and then _you_ decided you didn't want to know which car would win before doing your review," Richard said slowly, as if to a child. "They say the mind is the first thing to go," he told Pip with apparent regret.

Jeremy scratched his head. "Fuck, did I? Right. Well then, I have a car to drive!" He turned to leave, then suddenly stopped and rummaged through his jacket pockets. "Flip, I have a copy of my schedule for you; Francie sent it along. If you have any questions about it, you might as bloody well just call her." He tossed a folded lump of paper on the table and stomped out of the portakabin.

Pip looked at the door. "His wife kept his schedule? I hope I'm not stepping on any toes."

"No," Richard assured her. "If I know Francie, she'll be glad to be rid of the chore. Leaves more time for her cars and her rallying."

"Rallying?" Her eyebrows rose. "As in driving around dirt corners sideways for a day and a half and trying not to die?"

He laughed. "Said like someone who's never been rallying."

"No, I've never been, but I've seen it on TV," she protested, finishing the last dish and letting the water drain out of the sink. "It's not big in Ontario, I don't think, but it's huge in Quebec. That big winter rally--I forget what it's called--"

"Oh, winter rallying is a different beast entirely," Richard said, hanging up the tea towel to dry. "I'd love to try that, but I haven't made it up to Finland at the right time yet. No, Pip, there's an enormous difference between doing a rally--or even seeing one in person--and watching it on TV."

"I'll take your word for it," she said wryly, drying her hands with a piece of paper towel. "So if you're not filming right now, do you have time to go through your schedule with me?"

He glanced at his watch. "Yes, it shouldn't take too long." He crossed to the table and began rooting through his bag, finally pulling out a battered daytimer, fat with sheets of paper stuffed in haphazardly.

Pip looked at it in dismay. "Shouldn't take too long, eh? I have my doubts about that."

"It's an organised mess, honestly," he protested. "I know where everything--" He stopped, and frowned down at a piece of yellow foolscap he'd pulled out of the midst of it all. "Bugger. I forgot about that."

Squeezing her eyes shut, Pip sighed. "Oh dear." 

"No, no, it's all right. It wasn't important," he said, sitting down at the table. "Not very, anyway."

Pip sat beside him with her BlackBerry, her notebook, a calendar, and a pen in front of her. "Okay, then. Start at the beginning."

Richard looked down at the mess of papers and dog-eared daytimer pages in front of him. "The beginning. Right. Ehm...exactly what would you consider the beginning?"

 

James motioned Pip to follow him out of the warehouse, a finger to his lips. Curious, she glanced over her shoulder at Jeremy and Richard, who were arguing with Andy over the footage they'd shot that morning. Neither of them so much as looked over.

Shrugging, she trailed along behind James, out across the asphalt and over to the car park closest to the portakabin. "What are we doing?" she finally asked as he came to a stop and waited for her to catch up. 

James opened door of his Porsche for her. "It's 'Make Pip Go Fast' day, if you recall. In you get. We'll just have time for a doddle around the track before Richard and Jeremy figure out where we are and come barging in."

"Oh, no, it's all right, you don't have to--"

"Yes, I do," he said firmly. "We'll start sedately enough and take our time bringing you up to speed."

Suddenly a little nervous, Pip hesitated, fumbling about for a delaying tactic. "Have you checked the air pressure in your tires recently? What about your engine oil? Or your transmission fluid? Maybe we should--"

"Oh, do get in," James said, rolling his eyes. "You're speaking to the man who does pre-flight checks on a _tractor_ , for God's sake. Trust me when I say everything is at optimum level."

"Oh. Well...umm. All right, then." She gingerly climbed in, making sure her elbow was out of the way as he closed the door for her. As she waited for James to round the car and get in, she looked around the interior. "You know," she said as soon as he was seated and beginning to do up his seat belt, "I've only been here a few days, and I've already been in a Morgan and a Porsche. My dad is going to be so proud of his little girl."

James chuckled. "Your dad's a petrolhead, is he?" He waited for her to belt in, then started the car.

"Well, not to the extent that you guys are. I think I'd class him as more of an _enthusiast_. Right now he's restoring his 1966 Triumph TR4, it's his baby. I sometimes think he purposely never taught me to drive standard just so that I wouldn't be able to drive the Triumph, although he denies it."

While she was nervously chattering, James had pulled away from the line quite decorously, slowly gathering speed as he rounded Crooner. "Who taught you, then?"

"This car is fantastic," Pip said, looking over her shoulder at the basic rear seats. "Sorry, who taught me what?"

"How to drive a standard transmission."

"No one. I've never learned."

James turned his head to stare at her, only returning his eyes to the track when she squeaked, "Watch out for the corner!" He shifted gear, slowing down. "Are you bloody serious?" he demanded, surprised. "You've only ever driven an automatic?"

"Yes, why? I think that's a lot more common at home than it is here." Her forehead wrinkled. "Does it matter?"

"Yes. Clarkson's going to be apoplectic when he finds out."

Taken aback, Pip started to worry at her lip. "I'm sorry, James, I didn't--I mean, nobody ever asked me. I didn't know--"

He glanced over again, and his mouth twitched. "Don't be an idiot," he said gruffly. "It doesn't matter as far as working for us is concerned. Jez will just be livid that any decent human being could reach the ripe old age of whatever you are without having gone fast _or_ known the joys of manual shifting."

"Oh." She relaxed a bit in relief. "I can survive Jeremy being livid. I think. How about I tell him that when I buy a car, if it's standard I'll take some lessons before I drive it?"

James began to smile again. "I rather think it won't wait that long."

"What do you mean?" she asked, and then her face brightened as she looked at the track in front of them. "Hey, this is Gambon!"

"I mean that I suspect you'll be doing lessons sooner rather than later. Tomorrow, if those two have a say in it." He nodded in the direction of the warehouse, where Jeremy and Richard were just walking out into the weak sunshine.

Rather than stopping after they crossed the finish line, James kept on going for another lap. Pip couldn't help but notice that they were going at a much faster clip. "The only problem with that is that I just moved halfway around the world. I don't have any money for driving lessons."

"You misunderstand me," James grinned. "You won't be taking lessons, you'll be _given_ them."

"By who?" she asked, suspicion dawning. They took Chicago faster than she was expecting, and she grabbed the handle on the door.

"Well, that's the interesting question, isn't it? I can't see Jeremy lasting more than three minutes before shouting at you; he has the patience of a gnat with ADD."

"James, how fast are we going?"

He ignored her question, the corner of his mouth quirking up. "Then there's Richard, who is much more patient than Jez, but gets bored easily. He won't shout at you, but it's a toss-up whether he'd last five minutes or an hour before demanding to take over and do it himself." He stopped speaking for a moment to concentrate on judging the Follow-through, then continued. "As for me, I can be very patient indeed, but I would also insist you learn the nuts and bolts, as it were, of the gears and transmission. I find it much easier to teach when the student understands the principles involved. However, perhaps _you_ don't have the patience for that." He flung the car into the second last corner, then Gambon, braking to a quick halt just past the chequered line. "Well." He looked over at Pip. "How was that?"

"Fast," she said a bit breathlessly, but with a grin. "But fun."

James looked satisfied. "Good. You're not afraid of a bit of speed, then, you're just not used to it."

There was a rap on the glass, making Pip jump. She turned to see Richard and Jeremy leaning over to peer in the window. Finding the button on the door, she lowered the glass.

"Now that you've been around with Slow," Jeremy said, "are you ready to take the training wheels off?" 

Richard laughed. "What, with you?"

"Of course with me!"

"There's no 'of course' about it!" Richard exclaimed, straightening up to confront Jeremy. "Why the hell would she want to go with you when I'm obviously the quickest here?"

Jeremy snorted. "Quickest my fucking Aunt Fanny. Quickest at coming, maybe."

"Well, at least some of us can still get it up without pharmaceutical aid."

"At least when some of us get it up, we can keep it up for longer than thirty seconds without shooting all over the sheets--"

"Ha!" Richard laughed. "That's not what your wife says."

Pip looked beseechingly at James. "Help?"

James leaned forward to glare past Pip. "Oi. It's not going to be either of you," he said loudly, stopping Richard and Jeremy cold. "The pissing match you two are in, you'd destroy my tyres."

Jeremy looked at Richard. "Hm. He does have a point."

"He does rather, doesn't he?" Richard said, before brightening and eagerly asking, "Didn't we have a scrubby set of Pirelli R16's in the garage?"

Jeremy's eyebrows lifted, and his eyes gleamed. "I believe we did, yes. James," he barked, "take it over to the garage. We'll save your precious fucking tyres. I'll do the straightline, get some heat into them, and then Hammond, you do the track."

"Right," Richard nodded, and the two of them marched off toward the garage, in accord once more.

Pip stared after them. "Do I even get a say in this?"

James sighed and started the engine. "No. Strewth, I hope my insurance is paid up."

 

Richard looked over at Pip in the passenger seat and grinned. "So, did you enjoy your introduction to speed, or have we traumatised you for life?"

Pip snorted, waving at the security guard as they left the aerodrome for the pub. "The speed was a lot less traumatising than you and Jeremy discussing your erectile dysfunctions."

"Hey!" he protested hotly. " _I_ have no problems in that area, thank you very much! I'll have you know that--"

"No, no, no," Pip said loudly, cutting him off, one palm held toward him as if to ward him off. "You will _not_ have me know. I've been here four days, you are _not_ telling me about your sex life. That is information I do not need to know about my employers."

Richard chuckled. "All right, fair enough. Let's just not use the words 'erectile dysfunction' again, okay? You'll find blokes can be a bit touchy about that."

"I am more than happy never to mention it again," she said fervently.

"And so we will return to our original subject, which was did you, or did you not, enjoy your quick trips out on the track today?"

"I did. More than I thought I would," she admitted sheepishly. "But it's a bit nerve-wracking being a passenger with no control over it, you know?"

Richard nodded. "When you're driving you have the input from the steering wheel, you can gauge how the car is going to behave. A passenger doesn't have that information, so it feels closer to the edge than it really is."

"Which I suppose means that after a few months, someone's going to expect me to try driving fast, aren't they?"

"A few months?" Richard raised an eyebrow. "Bollocks to that. You can start next week. You're going to have to learn to understand and love speed rather quickly if you want to be able to translate us into proper English for everyone else," he grinned, reminding her of Andy's words.

"Um. Yes, well. There might be a slight glitch in that plan." She studied her fingernails.

"What's that?"

"Well... What would I drive? I don't have a car, remember."

Richard waved off that objection. "It's not like we don't have cars around here all the time, Pip. You can use the Lacetti, or one of the loaners if we're quiet about it, or even James' Panda. Start small, and work your way up."

"And, um, are any of those an automatic transmission?"

"No, of course not, who in their right mind would--" He stopped and looked over at her, aghast. "No. Are you telling me you don't know how to drive a manual?"

Pip cringed and nodded.

"How can you possibly not know how to drive a manual?" Richard questioned, returning his eyes to the road. A moment later a dimple appeared and he loudly yelped, "What kind of backwards, cockheaded sort of country _is_ Canada, anyway?" 

"Hey," she protested. "it's not our fault. It's those stupid Americans, putting auto transmissions in everything. The only car we ever had that was manual was my dad's Triumph TR4A, and it's not like he was about to teach me on that!"

"Well, no," Richard said as if it were blindingly obvious. "You can strip a clutch in one of those faster than Jez can mortally offend someone."

She snickered, unable to stop herself. "That fast, eh?"

He chuckled, then sighed, then lifted one hand to scrub it across his face. "Right. Well, first things first, clearly. We'll get you started on learning how to drive a manual..."

 

Pip dropped her head into her hands with a groan as the argument raged on around her.

"Don't be stupid, Jeremy," Richard said with great scorn. "You _can't_ teach her. You couldn't teach a dog how to take a _piss_ if your life depended on it, because all you ever do is shout, and then when it doesn't go well, you just shout louder."

"For once, I'm in complete agreement with Hammond," James said, leaning forward. "This isn't the time for your idiotic version of 'encouragement'."

"Utter bullshit," Jeremy declared, slouched back in his chair, gin and tonic in hand. "I make an excellent teacher, because unlike you two twat-faced imbeciles, I know how to explain something properly."

"Since when?" Richard demanded, as James snorted derisively and opened his mouth to chime in.

"What about the Stig?" Pip asked desperately.

The three men looked at her blankly.

"What about him?" James asked instead of whatever he'd been going to say.

"Could he teach me?"

Richard raised one eyebrow. "Instead of one of us, you mean?"

"Well--yes." She cringed, afraid she was going to insult them terribly. "It's just...I mean, that's what he _does_ , isn't it? Teach people? And then I wouldn't be taking up your valuable time."

James, Jeremy and Richard looked at each other, and by virtue of a bit of head cocking, eyebrow motion, and a nod or two, came to a silent agreement. "Works for me," Jeremy said, draining the last of his gin and tonic. "Then I don't have to listen to you turn the gearbox into a bucket of scrap metal."

"Such faith, Jezza," James said sardonically, then addressed Pip. "Of course, it depends on his schedule these days, but I think it's slowed down this month."

"We'll talk to him next week," Richard promised. "He loves teaching people to go fast, so I can't see him minding starting back a few steps further."

Pip sighed in relief, relaxing back in her chair and picking up her drink. "Right. One last weekend of ignorance, and then we'll start everything for serious next week, eh? Speaking of which, James, Andy suggested I meet you at White City tomorrow for your voiceovers. Would you mind if I tagged along to learn that end of it? And perhaps we could go over your schedule when you're finished?"

James nodded. "I don't see why not. You said something about giving us copies of our schedules, right?"

"Yes," she assured them all. "I'll have them ready for you on Monday."

 

"Right, I have your schedules for the week, as promised," Pip said briskly on Monday morning, pulling out three separate sheaves of papers. She handed the first to Richard. "Richard, you wanted a weekly overview and a daily summary, correct? The first page is the week at a glance--just what you've got on and when. The daily summary shows you what and when, but also gives the location, who precisely you'll be meeting, and what in general it's in regard to."

She gave the next thin sheaf of papers to Jeremy. "You wanted a two-week overview only. Let me know if that really is all you need, because I suspect a daily summary like Richard's would be more useful. However, it's all about what works for you. James, you wanted the full package, right?" She handed a slightly thicker packet of papers to him. "You'll see I've broken each day down into a grid with the full details of each appointment, as well as contact numbers for whoever's organised it. Where applicable, I've included dress code--simply formal or non--the street address and post code for your sat-nav, as well as written directions in case your sat-nav thinks it's in Munich, or something. If you're anywhere other than here, White City, or Hammersmith, I've included a selection of restaurants of varying quality and price where you could get lunch or supper. I'm assuming all three of you have pub radar built in and don't need help with that, but if I'm wrong, I can include those as well. If you think of any other information you'd like to have, just let me know. Also, I've emailed the file to each of you, you can install it on your laptop if you like, and I've also sent your overview schedule to each of your phones. Any questions?"

Richard, James and Jeremy stared at her.

"And that, gentlemen," she said, pleased with their silence, "is what I'm here for."


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richard has a bad day at Dunsfold, the light dawns for Jeremy, and Pip gets a bit tipsy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to [8lapetitehirondelle8](http://archiveofourown.org/users/8lapetitehirondelle8) and [foxtales](http://archiveofourown.org/users/foxtales) for the betas!

Pip spent the next two weeks diligently shadowing Jeremy, Richard and James, following each presenter in turn as they performed an aspect of the business she hadn’t yet experienced. She also sat in on production meetings, tech meetings, and even met Andy in White City to attend a meeting with the executive producers, all of whom assured her there wasn’t enough money in the world to entice them into taking on her job. While they were there, Andy also showed her around the Top Gear offices, introducing her to many of the research staff, production co-ordinators, and even two of the production accountants who happened to be there at the same time. “Be nice to them,” he warned her, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he chuckled. “When they tighten the purse strings, Jez gets stroppy, and none of us wants to deal with that.” 

Pip turned to the accountants with a full-wattage smile. “Hello, it’s delightful to meet you. You both look lovely today.”

The accountants rolled their eyes, grinning, and Andy laughed out loud.

The trip to White City from her flat (and the return trip later that day) took about an hour and a half, and that had been without major delays on either the train or the Tube. Pip fervently hoped early morning meetings would be few and far between in the future. However, she had to admit that it was nice to have a day off from the bike ride to Dunsfold; her legs hadn’t stopped aching since her first day of work. It was astonishing how, at the end of a long day, the tiniest hill could feel like she was trying to bike straight up Ben Nevis, and in places the road was only one lane, forcing her to take refuge in the undergrowth to let an occasional car pass. If only she’d been able to find an affordable flat closer to the track, she thought longingly, it would make her life so much easier. Well, at least she had a decent roof over her head, and after a few months of biking that exhausting route, she’d surely lose weight, not to mention have some kickass leg muscles.

Shadowing the three presenters taught Pip much about what they did on a daily basis, but also highlighted for her how much they didn't do, and how important it was that they surrounded themselves with talented people. After discussing it with Andy, she spent several days training closely with various members of the crew, learning the crucial but unseen foundations of the production. She found it immensely valuable, but Jeremy began to complain that she wasn't underfoot enough and that she was supposed to be working for _him_ , not learning how to light the set or work the cameras. Secretly pleased she'd already been missed, Pip rolled her eyes and told Jeremy she'd be back in the Portakabin and at their beck and call the following morning--which she'd been planning on anyway.

The next day started off on the wrong foot, and rapidly went downhill from there. Pip greeted her charges with tea and a toasted muffin for each of them. Jeremy ate his with a complaint about the lack of jam, James thanked her politely but said he quite disliked the things, and Richard tore his to bits to dunk in his tea, leaving a mess of crumbs on the table. Pip sighed, made a mental note never to bring muffins again, and cleaned up after Richard as the presenters got to work on the final revisions to the next day's script. It involved even more bickering than usual, as James seemed to be in a bit of a mood, and Pip wasn't sorry to be left in peace when it was time for the three men to film a segment out on the track for one of November's shows.

She typed up the script revisions, and while waiting for the ancient printer to spew out the replacement pages, she was immensely surprised to realise that she was… _happy_. Despite the rocky start to the day, despite the arguing and mess and three grown men who often acted more like stroppy teenagers, despite the gruelling bike ride and having to use her knapsack as an office, she was actually having fun. While she'd been proud of her work at her last job, it was never any more than a job to her. Here, she felt more like a cog--a tiny cog, granted, but a cog nevertheless--of a creative engine that was exciting and, thanks to the people involved, a lot of fun.

Humming to herself, Pip left the script pages in a tidy pile on the table, poured herself a cup of tea, and went to go watch the filming. She walked outside and turned towards the track just in time to see Richard's red Ford Fiesta go flying off, bouncing over ruts and sending tall grass flying in all directions. 

Swearing under her breath, Pip set her mug down on the Portakabin steps and set off in a jog in that direction, but before she'd got far, Richard was out of his car and striding towards the track to meet James's Suzuki Swift as it came around the corner and slowed to a stop. James climbed out, and immediately it looked to Pip like Richard was shouting at him, although the breeze carried his words away from her. As she approached, Richard threw his helmet in the grass and stalked off again, heading away from the buildings, towards the trees that bounded the airfield on the north side.

Pip watched him go, approaching James just as he slammed the door closed on Richard's abandoned hot hatch. "Shouldn't someone go after him?" she asked.

James pulled off his helmet. "Go right ahead," he muttered.

"Well--I meant you, actually."

"No. I've had enough of his tantrums for one day. He's bloody sulking because for once I didn't oblige him by coming in last." He dropped his helmet on the hood of Richard's car and tugged off his gloves.

"Oh, James, I'm sure that wasn't it," she said, dismayed.

James ran one hand through his hair, sweeping it off his forehead, and sighed. "I don't know. Perhaps not. But frankly, Pip, I don't have the patience to jolly him out of it right now." He turned and began to walk back to the warehouse, head down.

Pip watched him go, feeling a bit lost. She'd only been with them for three weeks, and while she'd observed a few of Richard's moods, she hadn't had to deal with one since that day at the Red Lion when he'd blurted out Jeremy's marital issues.

Taking a deep breath, she set off after Richard, worried that she wouldn't know what to say when she caught up to him. He'd already disappeared into the woods by the time she reached the trees, but loud cracking noises pinpointed his location. She made sure he could see her coming.

Richard had a fallen branch in his hand, and was repeatedly swinging it with all his might at another tree. With each snapping blow, bark flew and leaves trembled, until finally the branch broke. Richard threw it aside, picked up another, and resumed taking out his anger on the sturdy beech tree.

Pip stayed silent, waiting. She tried not to watch him, but found it difficult considering the energy he was giving off. As it was, she saw the moment the piece of bark flew into his eye, and she was moving towards him even as he dropped the branch and lifted his hand to his eye.

"No, don't touch it," she cautioned him as she hurried towards him. "Don't blink--let me get it." She steadied his hot and sweaty face with her left hand and rested the fingertips of her right on his cheekbone. "Hold still, okay?"

"Yeah," he managed, rigid.

With two gentle fingertips, Pip pulled away the small sliver of rough dark wood from where it lay on his lower eyelid, just touching his cornea. Sure she had it, she let go of him and stepped back.

With a curse, Richard blinked a few times, then gave his eye a swipe with the heel of his hand. "Thanks," he muttered.

"No problem. You might want to wear your sunglasses next time, though."

"What, you're not going to give me a bollocking for pitching a fit and tossing my toys out of the pram?" he spat.

"No." She wrinkled her nose slightly, uncertain. "Should I?"

Richard picked up another, smaller branch, but this time he used it to take a vicious swing at a tall weed. "Probably."

"Oh. Well, I could give it a try, if you like."

He snorted, frustration tinged with a reluctant amusement. "I'm sure James wishes you would."

"I think he's tired today," she said gently. "He's been awfully busy this past week."

Richard took another swing at the grass, but much of the anger that fuelled him had abated. After a few moments of silence broken only by the swish of his branch, Richard suddenly said, "I misjudged the fucking corner."

Pip leaned against a large oak tree. "Everyone makes mistakes."

"It wasn't a mistake," he snapped. "I know everyone makes mistakes, I'm not stupid."

"I never suggested you were," she said sharply, then bit her lip. Taking a long breath in through her nose, she began again. "If it wasn't a mistake, what was it?"

"Oh, fuck it," he said, suddenly sounding tired. He threw his branch away and sat heavily on a fallen tree trunk a few feet off the ground. "Just...never mind."

Pip walked over and sat beside him, but further back on the log so she was able to swing her feet through the tips of the grass. "But I do mind," she said quietly. "I'd like to help, if I can."

"You can't help brain damage," he said, his voice flat.

"No. No, I can't. Is it that spatial thingy?"

Richard was surprised into a soft laugh. "That's the technical term, yeah."

She felt her face turn hot. "Shush, you."

He tipped his head back with an enormous sigh, looking up into the fluttering leaves above them. "I hate this. I hate feeling great, having a lark, getting my rocks off by finally being able to drive fast, compete, _race_. And then it's all fucked up by my rubbish broken brain."

"It's not rubbish. Remember--if you have a broken ankle you can't expect to run, so shut up."

Richard chuckled weakly, but then closed his eyes. "I'm scared, Pip. I hate to admit it, but I'm scared the spatial 'thingy' is permanent, and that half of my life--cars, bikes, racing, speed--will be taken away from me forever. I don't like being afraid."

Impulsively Pip reached over and began to rub her hand up and down his back. After a second she faltered. "Um. I'm sorry, is that--is this inappropriate?"

"No, it's fine. Listen, short of running up on stage to snog me in the middle of the News Of The Week in front of the entire studio audience, you won't be anywhere near inappropriate. You can say anything you want to me, and you can...well."

She resumed stroking his back. "So this is all right?"

Richard nodded, his eyes still closed. "Yeah. It's nice."

"For future reference, if--if you're having one of your low points or bad days. Does something like this help? Or do you dislike being touched? I'd hate to make things worse."

"I don't really know," he shrugged. "I haven't had anyone around since those first few months. And back then, I was...well, I was very poorly." After a moment's thought he said, "I think it would be...good. It feels," he hesitated uncertainly. "Anchoring."

"That sounds like it might help a bit."

"God, yes." He spoke so quietly Pip could barely hear him. "I get lost. And panicked. And scared."

"All right," she murmured. "Because I meant what I said about wanting to help. I'll offer if I can see that you need it, but you might also have to ask, okay? Because sometimes I'm just plain dim."

Richard finally opened his eyes and looked over at her with a half-hearted attempt at a smile. "I doubt that. But I will try and ask if I have to."

She nodded. "I know it's hard. I'm not very good at asking either."

Richard leaned into her shoulder for a moment, then straightened and looked down at the brown-tipped grass between his feet. He laced his fingers together. "I have to talk to James."

"I think that might be a good idea, yeah."

"And then I'll talk to Andy."

Pip's hand stilled on his back in surprise. "Andy? Why?"

"Well, I can't keep doing the racing segments, can I? They'll have to take me out of the camper van stunt. And oh, god, the Renault F1 car." He looked utterly miserable.

"Okay, slow down for a second. How long have you been driving? Since the accident, I mean."

"About five months."

"And how many difficulties have you had with your spatial..." She waggled her fingers.

"Awareness."

"Right. In the past five months, how many problems have you had?"

"Two. Well, three, now," he said bitterly.

"What happened with the first two?"

"The first one was parking. I couldn't get the bloody Land Rover parked, I scuffed the bumper on a cement barrier. More than once. And the second time was Silverstone," he muttered, referring to his off at the 24 hour Britcar race.

" _That_ could have happened to anyone," she argued, though she kept her voice low. "It was pitch dark, chaotic, and he was off your rear quarter-panel, right in your blind spot."

"I should have seen him, I should have known he was there--" 

"How? You were wearing a helmet, neck restraints. It's not like you could turn your head and do a shoulder check," she pointed out. "Were you the only one to run into trouble during that race? Were you the only one to have an off?"

"Well, no, but--"

"So how do you know it wasn't just an accident? And that today wasn't a plain old mistake?" she asked, then gripped his shoulder as he began to protest. "No, let me try and explain this, if I can figure out how." She groped for words for a moment before slowly saying, "If you break...no, that won't work. Okay, let me try it this way. I’m pregnant, and--"

" _What?_ " Richard looked at her, thunderstruck. "Is this an example, or are you serious?"

"It’s an example, you tit! Jeez!"

"Oh, thank god, because you can’t leave already, we’re just starting to--”

"I’m not leaving. Now for Pete's sake, will you let me finish?" She wrapped her hand around the back of his neck and pretended to give him a shake, waiting until he gave in to a little smile. "Now, my point was that _let’s pretend_ I’m pregnant. I'm feeling fine, but one day my stomach gets upset, and I throw up. I ate something weird, so I think great, now I’ve got food poisoning and it’s going to hurt my baby and I panic. It turns out, though, that what I ate was fine and it’s just morning sickness. Food poisoning was an understandable assumption because of what I ate, but it actually had nothing to do with it."

"You mean I'm assuming it's the brain damage."

Pip resumed stroking his back. "Well, yes. Aren't you? I'm not saying it definitely is or isn't a result of your injury; obviously I can't know that. But don't you think you owe it to yourself to try and find out, rather than just giving up on what you love to do?"

Richard moodily pondered that for a few minutes. "I suppose it's possible it was just a monumentally stupid mistake."

"That's all you need to do, is consider the possibility. C'mon, why don't we head back? You can talk it over with James and Jeremy."

He sighed. "Yeah, all right." He straightened up, and when Pip hopped off the tree trunk, he gestured her ahead of him. They picked their way through the woods, pausing for a moment to look out over the open grass that led across to the track before they set off towards the buildings.

 

“Flip.” Jeremy stuck his head through the door of the Portakabin at the end of the day. “Three Compasses in half an hour.”

“Oh, umm--thanks, but I’m afraid I can’t. Enjoy your dinner, though.” Pip resumed packing her things into her rucksack.

He appeared not to have heard. “It’s the one on the opposite side of Dunsfold Park. I’ve fixed it so you can ride your idiotic bicycle through the park on the Perimeter Road and out through the gate on that side. The restaurant is right there.”

She looked up at him. “Thank you, Jeremy, but I won’t be joining you. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He stepped into the Portakabin, letting the door swing shut behind him. “Of course you’re coming, don’t be ridiculous.”

Taken aback, she repeated herself. “No, I’m afraid I can’t.”

“Why not?” Jeremy demanded. “We need you there. We’ll be discussing today’s filming, including Hammond’s temper tantrum. We’ve already gone over it with him, but the silly twat is still fretting.”

“You don’t need me for that,” she pointed out. “In fact, it would probably be better if I wasn’t there.”

“Bollocks,” he barked. “Besides, Hamster said you would explain something about you being pregnant with food poisoning.”

“I’m not pregnant!” she exclaimed. 

“Good. Then you can cycle on over to the Three Compasses for dinner.”

Exasperated, she leaned on the table and glared at him. “Listen, Mr. Clarkson, this is none of your business, but my budget doesn’t extend to going out for dinner or drinks like we have been every other night, okay? You seem to have forgotten, but I am merely a lowly assistant, and despite the fact that anyone working for you three ought to be making a fortune just to put up with you, I am most certainly not.”

Jeremy’s lips twitched, and it soon turned into a grin. In the same tone of voice he used when talking about baby animals, he said, “You’re funny when you’re irritated with me."

Frustrated and amused in equal measure, Pip threw her arms in the air. “Oh, for-- I give up.”

“Good. Twenty minutes is still plenty of time for you to get there.” He opened the door and started to leave, but paused halfway out. “I heard you, Flip. We’ll sort it out going forward. As for tonight, it’s on us.”

He’d left, the door banging shut behind him, before she managed a surprised, “Thank you.”

 

“Lads, we have a problem,” Jeremy said the minute James sat down. Pip hadn’t arrived yet, but she would at any moment.

“What?” James asked.

“Flip.”

“She’s not a problem,” Richard protested. “She’s not, she’s brilliant.” It earned him a pair of looks.

“I know that, you idiot,” Jeremy said, and leaned forwards in his chair. “And she's proven herself useful at these brainstorming sessions which means I'd rather have her here than not. But therein lies the problem, because I discovered this evening that she has a _budget_.” He said it like it was a particularly nasty word.

“Of course she has a bloody budget,” James said. “She’s an intelligent woman living off a single income, and likely a pittance, at that.”

“You think so?” Richard asked, then looked at Jeremy. “Oh, I see! And we keep dragging her along to pubs and restaurants after work.”

“Precisely.” He glanced at the doorway. “Here she comes. Think on it, chaps. We need a solution.” He sat upright again. “Flip,” he said as she approached the table. “Glad you decided to join us. Sit down.”

She hung her rucksack over the back of the last empty chair and took a seat. “I was under the impression I didn’t have much of a choice,” she replied, but with a hint of a smile.

“Not really, no,” Jeremy said blithely. “Wine?”

“Just a small glass, please.”

He poured liberally from the bottle sitting in front of him, ignoring her when she said ‘stop’.

“Jeremy, I have to ride ten miles on my bicycle after this,” she protested, moving her glass out of his reach. “I’d rather not end up in the ditch, thanks.”

“Richard will give you a lift.”

Richard said, “Sure,” at the same time that Pip spoke.

“No, he won’t.” She added, “You can’t just volunteer other people like that, Jeremy.”

“Why not? I know he’ll do it.”

Nodding, Richard said, “Of course I will. It’s not--”

Pip frowned, interrupting him. “No, you won’t. You’re not responsible for getting me home from work every time we’re a bit late.”

“Who said anything about--”

“And anyway,” she continued, “It’s beside the point. I--”

“It’s not beside the point!” Richard exclaimed. “If--”

“Shut up!” James said loudly, fed up. “Bloody Norah, would you stop bickering like children?”

“Exactly!” said Jeremy.

James looked at him darkly. “You started it, you bellend. Look, we’ve all had a difficult day. Richard, since you’ve got your Land Rover, would you mind awfully giving Pip and her bike a lift home this evening?” He held up one hand to forestall her objection.

“Of course not,” Richard said. “It only adds fifteen minutes tops onto my trip, and it’s not like I abhor driving. Which is what I was trying to say--”

James cut him off, rolling his eyes. “Stop while you’re ahead, you twat. Pip, since we are, as you pointed out, keeping you at work late, we would feel better about it if you would let Hammond drive you home. And now that that’s settled--” He lifted his glass and said, “To mates.”

Jeremy snickered behind his hand and then raised his own glass. “To mates.”

Richard and Pip looked across the table at each other. “I think we’ve just been completely outmanoeuvred,” she said. 

He grinned. “Well, _you_ have. I didn’t have a problem with the plan from the beginning.” He picked up his glass and angled it towards her. “To mates.”

Pip heaved a loud sigh. “One of these days I’m going to refuse to let you three manipulate me.”

“But this is not that day,” Jeremy pointed out. “Hurry up, my arm’s getting tired.”

Shaking her head, she raised her glass. “To mates.” Clinking each of their glasses in turn, she drained half her wine and then set the glass down next to Jeremy. “If I’m not in charge of getting myself home, then fill ‘er up, please.”

He eyed her. “This is going to end up costing me, isn’t it?”

Pip smiled at him sweetly. “Oh, yes.”

The waiter came to their table just then, so after a quick flurry of menu flipping, they each placed their order.

After he’d left, James relaxed back in his chair and looked at Pip. “Right. What’s all this about you being pregnant?”

“Oh, for the love of--!” She lowered her voice and growled, “I. Am. Not. Pregnant.”

Richard glared at the other two men. “I never said you were, I swear. Pillocks.”

Pip suddenly narrowed her eyes at James. “You’re just trying to wind me up again, aren’t you? If you genuinely thought I was pregnant, I couldn't have downed a full glass of wine without getting at least a raised eyebrow.”

James chuckled. “Blast, I’ve been rumbled.”

“The downside to keeping her around,” Jeremy pointed out. “She’s bound to cotton on to us, and then she’ll be no fun at all.”

“Hey!” she objected. “I resent being ‘kept around’ as a target for your amusement.”

“But you don’t mind being kept?”

“I’d prefer it, yes,” she said, clearly referring to being their employee.

But James took it in a different direction entirely and said, “That makes you our kept woman.”

Her eyes widened. “Hey!”

Richard made a face, his nose wrinkling. “I really don’t think I want to share a kept woman with you two.”

Pip dropped her head in her hands. “There is not enough wine in the world for this conversation.”

“Besides,” Richard carried on, “what if two of us wanted to keep her on the same evening?”

“Seniority,” Jeremy said authoritatively. 

“Oh, bollocks to that--”

“Please,” she begged, raising her head to drink deeply from her wineglass. “This is wrong on so many levels. Can we please change the subject?”

James, who had started it in the first place, took pity on her. “All right. Explain to me this pregnancy analogy, because Hammond made a dog’s breakfast out of it.”

After taking a moment to gather the remnants of her tattered composure, Pip repeated the example she’d given Richard that afternoon about making assumptions. “So that’s all it was,” she concluded. “I was just trying to give him another way to look at it.”

“Quite right, too,” Jeremy declared. “You were a rubbish driver long before you stuffed that jetcar in the dirt, Hamster, why should today be any different?”

“Thank you so much,” Richard said wryly.

They continued to hash it out until their dinners arrived, but were soon completely distracted by their food.

Richard looked across at Pip’s plate as he cut a piece off his rib eye steak. “That looks good, Pip. What did you say it was?”

“Mushroom, hazelnut & Brie Wellington,” she said with something approaching awe in her voice. “I never knew such a thing existed. If it’s as good as it sounds, I may never eat anything else again.” She took a bite of the juicy, cheesy filling surrounded by puff pastry, closed her eyes, and moaned. “Oh my god, this is the best thing I have ever put in my mouth.”

Jeremy sniggered and was about to speak; Richard's eyes widened and he began to laugh, but James, even though he smirked, shot a warning glance at them both. "Shut it, you twats."

“What?” Jeremy asked, phony innocence all over his face.

“You know very well what.” 

Richard returned his attention to Pip as she opened her eyes to take another bite, and though he grinned at her all he said was, “I’m glad you’re enjoying it.”

Her mouth full, she couldn’t answer him, but made a fervent noise of agreement.

As they ate, the three presenters discussed the day’s filming in a desultory fashion. Pip, who didn’t have much to contribute on that subject, finished eating first, so she dug through her rucksack for her notebook and jotted down a few of the more important points, as well as an idea that Jeremy liked enough to want to run past Andy.

Jeremy refilled her wineglass. “What happens if you lose that notebook?”

She looked up in surprise. “Not much. Everything ends up on my computer within a day, two at the outside. It would be a bit of an inconvenience, but not a major catastrophe.”

“Why not just put it straight into your mobile?” James asked, laying his knife and fork neatly on his empty plate.

“It’s a pain to type much on. Besides, I like writing things out, and typing them up later gives me a chance to think them through again.”

“Seems like twice the work,” Richard said.

“Not really. I mean, there isn’t that much I write down, all things considered. Everything to do with your schedules goes straight onto the BlackBerry and into the master schedule. I just take a few notes on your post mortems, your brainstorming meetings, and sometimes some random thoughts I want to come back to.” She grinned. “In other words, nothing very important.”

“Our brainstorming sessions aren’t important?” Jeremy said. “They are vital! It’s where we come up with all our best ideas.”

“Sorry, I’ve been here long enough not to buy that for a second,” she said, unrepentantly amused. “I’m not blind, nor am I deaf. Three quarters of the ideas for the show come from the team at White City.”

“Damn, we’ve been caught.” James said.

“No, I’m with Jez on this one,” Richard protested. “We three come up with the best ideas. Fact.”

“Fact, is it?” She laughed. “Okay, then.”

“Oi, you--”

Once again James interrupted an imminent--though good-natured--squabble. “Speaking of schedules, Pip, Sarah and I have tickets to the symphony for Saturday the twenty-third, if you wouldn’t mind adding it in.”

“Of course,” she said, digging out her BlackBerry. After navigating through to James’ portion of her master schedule, she snickered. “Do you have tickets for the Saturday, or for the twenty-third? Because they are not the same day.”

“Yes, they are.”

“No, actually, they aren’t.”

“Yes, they are.”

“No, James, they really aren’t.” She began to giggle.

“Typical,” Jeremy said. “If there is any way for him to get a time or date wrong, he’ll find it.”

Still chuckling, she said, “Double check and get back to me, okay? Right now they’re both clear, so it’s not a problem.” She polished off the last of her wine.

The waiter arrived and began to clear their plates. Shifting back from the table to give him more room, James asked, “So Pip, you’ll have some time on your hands in January when this season is over. Have you made any plans?”

“I haven’t really thought about it yet.” She scratched her eyebrow. “I mean, I’m still new here, and it doesn’t feel right to be planning a vacation already.”

“I have two whole weeks off,” Richard said, rubbing his hands together. “I can’t bloody wait.”

“What are you going to do?” she asked.

“Work on the farm.” His answer was immediate. “Spend a few days with Mum and Dad, too, but mostly I’ll be tackling a few projects on the farm. I’ve ordered a new door for one of the garages, and a few mates are coming over to help me install it.”

“Sounds like loads of fun,” she snickered.

“Fun might be overstating it,” he admitted. “But I’m looking forward to it nonetheless.”

James poured himself a little more wine, then emptied the last of it into Pip’s glass. “I’ll be knee-deep in Honda parts,” he said with immense satisfaction. 

“Which one?” Richard asked.

“Who cares?” Jeremy asked, making Pip laugh just as she was taking a sip of wine.

“The C200. I’ve got a new piston to replace the dodgy one, and I’ll replace all the rings at the same time. New cylinder head cover, too.”

“Nice,” Richard said, nodding. “I’m hoping to get the garage set up so I can work on mine, as well.”

“Which one?” James asked.

“Who cares?” Jeremy and Pip chorused. She laughed hard enough to have to wipe tears from the corners of her eyes.

“You’re drunk,” Jeremy said, sounding delighted about it. “Chaps, Flip is drunk!”

She denied it, still giggling. “I am not. I’m just...slightly tipsy. You guys kept refilling my glass on me!”

“Lightweight,” Richard teased. 

“Oh God, yeah,” she admitted. “Always have been.”

“Ah ha,” James said to the other two men, waggling his eyebrows. “That might come in handy if we need to wheedle our way back into her good graces.”

“Or talk her into something,” Richard said, nodding.

“Or sweet-talk something out of her,” Jeremy pointed out.

“She’s right here, you know!” Pip protested. “Not that I’ll ever discourage you from buying me drinks, but I’m not _that_ big of a pushover!”

Richard grinned. “Gentlemen, that sounds like a challenge.”

“Oh, _shit_ ,” Pip said with feeling.

 

“Right, where’s your bike?” Richard asked, winding his scarf around his neck before shrugging on his jacket. James had already left and Jeremy was just settling up at the bar.

“Chained to the signpost out front.” She turned in a half circle, trying to get her hand into the arm of her coat.

He suppressed a laugh and held the sleeve out so that she could navigate her arm into it.

“Thanks.” She picked up her rucksack and slung it over her shoulder.

“You’re welcome. Did you really lock it up?” He gestured for her to go first and they walked out into the cold, windy night, collecting Jeremy on their way. “It’s hardly likely to get nicked out here.”

“I know, it’s just a habit.” 

“You owe me, Hammond,” Jeremy complained, turning up the collar on his coat.

“I do not,” Richard disputed. “I picked up the tab last time. You’ll notice James has been first out the door both times, though.”

“Right. Next time we go somewhere posh, and make sure he foots the bill.”

Pip giggled, rose up on her very tiptoes, and tugged down on Jeremy's coat collar until she could reach to drop a light kiss low on Jeremy’s cheek. “Thanks for dinner, Mr. Clarkson.”

“Christ, you _are_ drunk,” he said gruffly, and re-adjusted his collar.

She smiled up at him. “I am not. Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone how nice you are.”

Richard snorted. “It’s not like anyone would believe you anyway. 'Night, Jez. C’mon, Pip, let’s get your bike.”

"Goodnight, Jeremy," Pip called as Richard caught at her jacket sleeve and towed her along.

"You'd better be sober in the morning, Flip," Jeremy said as he walked away towards his car, and the humour in his voice was evident. "And I plan on shouting and slamming every door in the place."

"So what else is new?" she yelled back, then nearly ran into Richard when he stopped next to her bike. "Oops! Sorry."

Richard shook his head, grinning. "You're determined to have him wrapped around your finger before your probationary period is up, aren't you?"

"What? No." She cocked her head. "Well, not on purpose, anyway. Though if it works…"

He chuckled. "Oh, it's working. Anyway, Cameron, let's get on with it, yeah? It's too raw out here to stand around chatting."

Pip looked at him.

"Your bike?" he reminded her. "Would you care to unlock it?"

"Oh! Right, sorry." She dug her keys out of a pocket on her rucksack, separated a small black one, and completely missed the tiny keyhole on her first try. Her tongue peeked out as she concentrated and managed to unlock it on her second try.

Richard felt a surprising but not unwelcome wave of fondness wash over him. He had grown to trust in her kindness and her judgement over the past three weeks, but he was immensely satisfied to discover that he genuinely _liked_ her. He couldn't hide his smile. "You _are_ tipsy," he teased. 

In the light from the sign directly over them, her blush was faint but visible. "Well, yeah, everyone kept refilling my glass."

He took the bike lock from her hands and wrapped it around the seat post, securing it snugly before wheeling the bicycle towards his Land Rover. "With Clarkson picking up the tab, you should have kept drinking. It doesn't happen often, you know. We've learned to take advantage when it does and get truly pie-eyed."

"But if I did, when it was my turn to pay, he'd get me back for sure!" she protested. "I don't think I could afford Jeremy's bar tab."

Richard stopped behind his vehicle and unlocked the rear door before swinging it open. "Don't be ridiculous, Pip, you won't be taking turns paying. Hell, _we_ don't even, usually." He hoisted her bike up into the back of the Rover, laid it down with the rear tire wedged under the back seat, and closed the door again. "Hop in," he urged, gesturing towards the passenger side.

They climbed into the vehicle and as they did up their seat belts, Richard continued, "I thought you said you were a lightweight. If it doesn't take much to get you properly drunk anyway, Jeremy could hardly complain about the cost, could he?"

Pip laughed. "Well, I suppose that's true. I mean, look at me. Half a bottle of wine and I'm already silly."

He chuckled. "Silly, eh? And what sort of trouble does a silly Pip get up to, then?"

"No trouble, really. I probably just giggle a lot and sing too loudly." She grinned. "And talk too much. I definitely talk too much."

"This sounds like it could be fun," he teased her, then had to quickly downshift for a dark corner in the road. "Crikey, do you really ride your bike along here every night?"

"Yep." She made a popping sound on the 'p'.

"It's narrow as hell, not to mention pitch dark!"

"Yep."

"You're going to get run over one of these days."

"Yep."

He huffed a laugh as he glanced over at her. "You're very sanguine about it."

"Well, I mean it's practically inevitable, isn't it? Although I doubt I'll _actually_ get run over, but I fully expect to have to dive for the ditch someday. And there's a spot up here somewhere that the banks go almost straight up. If I ever meet a car right there, I'll have to make a leap for a low hanging branch and climb on like a monkey." She snickered. 

"You will be careful, won't you?" Richard said, only half-joking. "Having just discovered the joys of an assistant, I'd be loathe to lose her already."

"At least you've stopped calling me your babysitter. And yes, I'm careful." She laughed. "Mostly because my bike's worth more than I am, right now. Bloody thing cost me a fortune, just so I could get one that was relatively light. There are a distressing number of hills on this road!" 

"I thought it felt quite light when I lifted it in. And do you enjoy the trip?" he asked curiously, glancing at her again. 

She waggled her hand in a so-so gesture. "I enjoy riding my bike, and in lovely weather it's quite nice, even though it's a long trip. But between the mud and the hills and the narrow roads, and the fact that I'm always riding in the dark...well, I probably should have bought a cheap car. Too late now, though," she said cheerfully.

"Why didn't you?"

"I needed something right away, and I was leery of shopping for a used car in a foreign country by myself, having to tackle a whole different licensing system, and then getting used to driving on the other side of the road, all while settling into a new apartment in a new town and starting a new--and scary--job."

"We're not scary!" he protested. "We're just a bunch of bumbling, ridiculous blokes who do rubbish things on the telly."

"You were scary on my first day," she informed him.

"Was I?" he asked, his forehead wrinkling.

"Not you specifically. Well, only a little bit, anyway. But all three of you together, not to mention Andy, and the reputation of Top Gear? Um, _yes_ ," she said, laughing. "That was another reason for buying a bike instead of a car, in case you guys fired me after the first week and I had to go back to Canada with my tail between my legs, I thought it might be easier to sell the bike than a car. I don't know if it's true or not, but it made sense in my head at the time."

"At this time of year it might've been a bit iffy," he said. 

"Yeah, I suppose. I guess I'm lucky then that so far no one's fired me. Knock on wood." Pip rapped her knuckles on the top of her head.

"What do you mean 'so far'? You're not going to be sacked, not unless you astronomically bollocks something up, and I genuinely don't see that happening," he assured her.

"At least I finally believe I'm not going to get fired for saying something stupid. I still can't believe I said you guys were ' _just_ ' tv presenters," she chuckled ruefully. 

Richard grinned. "If putting your foot in your mouth got you sacked, none of us would have a job anymore."

She laughed out loud. "I hadn't thought of it like that, but even judging just by the past three weeks, I guess that's true."

"Wait until you've been around a few years, you'll wonder how any of us were hired in the first place, let alone kept our bloody jobs."

"Because," she said immediately, "you have an incredible crew around you making the programme _look_ amazing, all three of you know what you're talking about, and you're hysterically funny. You're all ridiculously charming, the chemistry between you is just right, and you're likeable despite--sometimes even because of--your faults."

He was taken aback. "Well--thank you. Bloody hell, you've put far too much thought into that."

She grinned. "I thought there might be a test on it."

"You passed with flying colours, Cameron." He glanced over at her and his lips twitched. "You think I'm funny, then, do you?" 

"What, you haven't seen me during your tapings or while you're filming?" She answered her own question before he could. "Well, no, I guess you haven't, as I try to keep well out of the way. I'm usually at the back losing my shit laughing."

"Are you?" he said, delighted. "At rehearsals, the most we get out of you is a smile, or maybe a snigger. I thought perhaps you were too intelligent for our brand of juvenile humour."

"Ha! Hardly. No, at rehearsals I'm usually trying to pay attention to everything at once, and I often can't hear all of it because you're not miked. But at the tapings you guys are really on, and I also remember all the outrageous stuff that went on at the meetings and that's it, I'm a goner."

"That's brilliant," he said, feeling oddly pleased. "There are few things I truly enjoy more than giving people a good laugh."

"Well, I can't speak for everyone, but you make _me_ laugh on pretty much a daily basis." She shot him a sweet smile. "Sometimes even when you mean to."

He gave a sharp bark of laughter. "All right, I stepped right into that one. But truly, Pip, thank you. You've properly made my day." When he looked over at her, he could faintly see a blush on her cheeks in the lights of the approaching town.

"You--you're welcome," she said, surprised. "But you can't be unaware that you make people laugh."

"Well, no. But it's a different beast, isn't it? I mean, to know objectively that people out there are watching the show and enjoying it, as opposed to someone I know 'losing her shit' because I've been funny," he chuckled. "It could be my brain's re-wiring, but it feels better to make a mate belly laugh than a stranger."

Pip cocked her head. "No, I don't think that's just you. Maybe because a stranger can laugh as much out of surprise as amusement? Whereas a friend...well, they know what to expect out of you, don't they? So if you make them belly laugh, it's more satisfying."

Richard nodded. "Yes! That's it exactly. Now, where can I park? Should I head for that car park near the pub?"

"No, at this time of night, just pull up opposite my flat. There's usually a space along there somewhere."

Richard did as she said, finding a space to pull into just a little ways down the street from her door. They climbed out of the Land Rover and met up behind it, Richard nudging Pip aside to swing the door open. He lifted her bicycle out and passed it to her, then closed and locked the rear door again.

She leaned the bike against her hip to dig her keys out of her bag. "Well, thank you for the lift--"

Richard stood it upright again with three fingers on the handlebars. "I'll walk you across."

Pip looked up at him in surprise. "You don't have to, I'm right down there--"

"I know. I'll wheel your bike for you." He smiled. "Help you get it through the door in your silly state."

She snickered. "Sure, why not? The last thing I need is a broken bike. Aha!" She pulled her keys out in triumph, then headed across the road.

Following her, Richard asked, "Do you have to take it upstairs?"

"No, I don't share the stairwell, thank goodness, so I can leave it in the entry."

"That's right, you don't. I was too shattered to pay proper attention the last time I was here," he admitted with a chuckle.

"Yeah, you were pretty out of it. Your boiler had exploded the night before, right?"

"Yes. And, in fact, that day was the first time you found yourself having to talk me out of a temper tantrum, wasn't it?"

"It was hardly a tantrum," she protested. They reached her door, and she unlocked it. "You had genuine cause to be upset."

"Well. You had to talk me down then, and again today, and unfortunately it likely won't be the last time." He carefully wheeled her bike through the doorway and leaned it up against the wall before turning to face her. "Thank you, Pip. I'm grateful."

Blushing, she looked anywhere but at him. "Don't be ridiculous, anyone would--"

"No," he stopped her gently. "Anyone wouldn't. But you did, and I'm grateful." He put his hands on her shoulders, bent his head, and much like she'd done with Clarkson, Richard dropped a light kiss on her cheek. "Goodnight, Pip," he said, smiling. "Sleep well." 

"You--you too," she stammered, her entire face pink.

With a little salute, he let himself out, closing the door behind him, and swiftly strode towards his Land Rover.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pip starts to settle into her job, and begins to make herself very useful indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to [8lapetitehirondelle8](http://archiveofourown.org/users/8lapetitehirondelle8) and [foxtales](http://archiveofourown.org/users/foxtales) for the betas!

Jeremy, on his way to the hangar for the Wednesday taping, turned back from the portakabin door. "Cameron. Are you at White City at any time over the next few days?"

Pip looked up from her laptop. "Friday morning. Do you need me to look after something while I'm there?"

"Wilman and I need to talk to you," he said, showing no expression. "Set up a meeting. Fifteen minutes will do it."

She felt her heart sink and her stomach rise, colliding somewhere in the middle. "Um--okay. I'll--I'll let you know."

Jeremy eyed her for another long moment, and then suddenly grinned. "You're turning green around the gills, woman. Relax, it's regarding our conversation yesterday. About working dinners."

Pip heaved a shaky sigh of relief, and then looked around her for something to throw, saying, "You rotten old--" By the time she'd picked up an empty water bottle, turned, and launched it in one motion, Jeremy had disappeared, laughing, and Richard had poked his shaggy head through the open door. The thin plastic water bottle bounced off the top of his head with a hollow crunch and he reared back, his eyes widening.

"What the blazes was that for?" he demanded, though he couldn't quite prevent the corners of his mouth turning up.

"I'm sorry, Richard," she said, embarrassed and amused in equal measure. "That was for Jeremy, actually. Feel free to pass it along. With a brick, preferably."

Richard barked out a laugh. "What did he do this time?"

"Scared the living daylights out of me--on purpose. Why are you here, shouldn't you be headed for the studio too?"

"I am, I just forgot something." He disappeared down the hall, returning a moment later with his watch, which he strapped on as he walked back towards the door.

"Oh, good. I was afraid you were going to come back with a handful of tampons for the news segment," Pip said, teasing.

"Nah, none of the girls will keep them in here anymore, not after we used up their last batch."

She raised her eyebrows. "Do I want to know?"

Richard grinned as he shook his head. "No, you really don't. You are coming to watch the taping?"

"Yes, I just have to finish this letter to the insurance company, and then I'll be in."

"Good." Richard waggled his fingers at her in farewell and clattered down the metal stairs, the door banging shut behind him.

With a sigh that turned into a chuckle, Pip quickly finished off the letter, saved it, and after shutting down her laptop and grabbing a cup of tea, headed for the hangar.

 

Friday morning, Pip peeked around the corner into Andy's office at White City. "Hiya. Ready for me?"

Wilman looked up with a smile. "As I'll ever be. C'mon in. Clarkson should be here any minute, he just stopped to talk to Anthony for a minute. Have a seat."

There were two chairs in front of his desk, the most comfortable-looking of which was piled high with papers, folders, and oddly enough a white enamel bedpan. With a sideways glance at the bedpan, Pip took a seat in the hard plastic chair next to it.

Andy caught her look. "Don't ask. But as far as I know, it's unused."

"That's encouraging."

He laughed. "How's it going, Pip? Getting used to herding those three adolescents? Any problems I should know about?"

"No, I don't think so," she said, leaning back in the chair. "I've mostly been shadowing everyone, as you know. Trying to remember names and figure out who does what around here. And getting to know the three of them, obviously; they've been very kind to me. We've got the schedules begun, although I have a feeling it will take a while for them to get used to asking me to book things instead of just doing it themselves, and then only occasionally remembering to put it on the calendar." She smiled.

Andy rolled his eyes. "It wouldn't surprise me."

"The only other thing I can think of right now," Pip added, glad she'd remembered to bring it up, "is that I still don't have my budget from accounting, or copies of last year's expenses as a guideline. Any chance you could…?"

He nodded. "I had a word with them prior to this discussion today, and you'll be receiving your new budget in the next few days. I'll remind them again to send along last year's as well."

Jeremy entered the office already talking. "Good morning, Flip. Have you two already had the conversation, or do I actually have to find a place to sit in this godforsaken rubbish-filled tip?"

"I was getting _Pip's_ \--" Andy pointedly emphasised her name, "--report on her first month. She's had some interesting tales to tell."

As Pip opened her mouth to protest, Jeremy loudly disclaimed, "It's all a pack of lies, you can't believe a word she says." He shoved the miscellaneous pile off the second chair, not giving the bedpan a second look as it hit the floor with a dull clang, and sat down.

"She said you three have been very kind to her."

"Everything she says is one hundred percent true," Jeremy said without a blink, crossing one leg over the other.

It was Pip's turn to roll her eyes. "Fickle, aren't you?"

"Me? Fickle? Nonsense," he blustered. "Can we get on with this? Flip might have all the time in the world, but I don't." He noticed Andy glaring at him, and finally threw up his hands. "Fine. Pip. _Pip_ might have nothing else to do today, but I've got precisely one hour before I have to be at my publisher's halfway across the city."

"Oh?" Pip smiled at him sweetly. "Too bad it wasn't on the schedule, I could have arranged everything a little more conveniently for you."

"I know, I know," Jeremy groaned, immediately slumping in his chair. "I'm useless and rubbish and clearly need a nanny."

Andy laughed and suddenly looked much more relaxed than he had earlier. "All right. Pip, Clarkson and I sat down and had a long conversation about this. Are you willing to add one working dinner a week to your schedule?"

"In terms of hours, yes," she said warily.

"Right." He swiveled his chair back and forth. "On your expenses claim form, you may now put in for one meal a week--not including when you're travelling, that's done separately--at a maximum of fifteen pounds per, receipts to be attached, obviously. So no dinners at the Ivy, Clarkson."

"We don't _work_ at the Ivy," Jeremy scoffed.

"You don't work in a lot of places," Andy said dryly, then addressed Pip again. "Any other nights when you're out for drinks at the pub, that's out of your pocket. However--and this is why you had to be here for this conversation, Clarkson, so that we're all crystal clear on the matter--we have all agreed to one working evening per week. Pip, you are not required to follow the Three Stooges to the pub every time they want to have a natter about the day. You are free--and encouraged--to say no, no matter how much they harp on about it. And if they get obnoxiously persistent about it, please let me know." He briefly glared at Jeremy.

"What?" Jeremy said, aggrieved.

"You get paid obscenely well for working all hours," Andy pointed out. "Pip does not, as much as I'd like to be able to pay her what's she's worth. Since the BBC does not condone slave labour, she will not be working all hours."

Clarkson folded his arms on his chest and looked at Pip. "When we rudely don't invite you out of an evening, blame him." He tipped his head in Andy's direction.

Wilman sighed. "I'm not saying you can't invite her to go along, muppet, and you know it. You may ask, and Pip, you may choose to accept or not, it's entirely up to you. What you may _not_ do, Clarkson, you massive bellend, is try to bully or guilt her into going just because you want someone to take notes on every idiotic word that passes your lips. Is that understood, the pair of you?"

"Understood," said Pip, who was trying hard not to laugh. "Were you by any chance standing outside the portakabin Tuesday night?"

"What? No, why?"

"Oh, no reason," she said airily, glancing at Jeremy out of the corner of her eye.

Jeremy looked at her, frowned, and then he suddenly began to laugh. "Shit. Fair enough. All right, yes, understood, Wilman."

"What happened Tuesday night?" Andy asked.

"I bullied her into coming for dinner," Jeremy freely admitted, still chuckling. "Which is when this whole subject came up in the first place. Scout's honour, no bullying or guilting, and I will tell Hamster and Slow the same."

"Finally. Jesus, it's like pulling teeth with you."

"Are we finished, then?" Jeremy asked, rising to his feet. "I have an inconveniently arranged meeting to get to."

"Goodbye, Clarkson," Andy said. "Thanks for dragging this out ten times longer than it needed to be."

Pip, who had found the whole thing vastly amusing, gave Jeremy a little wave. "See you Monday."

"See you, Flip."

"Clarkson!" Andy bellowed.

Jeremy's hoarse smoker's laugh echoed throughout the office.

 

Pip's phone woke her early Monday morning, and she groaned loudly. She wasn't due at White City until 11 am, and she'd gone to bed a bit late the night before, knowing she could get up later than usual.

She fumbled her BlackBerry off the nightstand, squinting at the screen, bright in the dimness of her room. She answered it, mumbling, "Hello?"

"Pip? Ehm--sorry to call so early," James' voice rumbled in her ear, sounding more embarrassed than apologetic. "Look, I know this is a long shot, but…" He paused.

"What's up, James?" She yawned, and rolled onto her back.

"Well, it's just...by any strange chance do you have an idea where my Panda might be?"

She cracked one eye open. "Where your Panda might be," she repeated.

"Ehm--yes."

"You can't find your car?"

"Well--no, actually."

Pip wrinkled her forehead, and for a moment she was at a complete loss. "But--where did you leave it?"

"That's the thing. I could have sworn I left it parked just down the street, but there's a different car parked there now. I _did_ drive home after the pub Wednesday night, didn't I?"

She thought back. "Yes, you did. You left early because you had to be at Broadcasting House first thing Thursday morning."

"Right. I took the car service. And Friday I took the bike to White City."

Pip scratched the top of her head. "What did you do on the weekend?"

"Sarah and I went to visit my parents, and she drove her car."

Wracking her brain to think of an answer beyond the obvious, she asked, "Did you take it in anywhere for servicing?"

"No, it's not due for anything. Unless…" His voice trailed off like he'd thought of something.

"What?"

James hesitated, then said, "I had a little tickle at the back of my mind like there's something I've forgotten. But it's not about where I left the car, so it doesn't matter. Anyway, I've already checked the entire street, and I know it's not in the BBC lot this time. You don't suppose this is some asinine prank being pulled by Pinky and Perky, do you?"

Pip laughed aloud. "Assuming you mean Jeremy and Richard, no, I don't think so. I know Richard was out with some of his mates last night, and I think Jeremy had a family thing on."

He sighed. "That's that, then, isn't it? It's been stolen."

"I'm afraid it sounds like it. What can I do to help, James? I think you only had the meeting at White City this afternoon, didn't you?"

"Officially, yes. I had some errands I wanted to run, but nothing that can't wait. I'll have to ring the police, and probably fill in a dozen forms that all say the same thing, and I'll never see my little Panda again. It's probably already on a container ship bound for Russia," he said morosely.

Pip bit her lip until she could speak without grinning. "I think they generally steal luxury cars to ship over there, don't they? Most likely it was taken for a joyride, and the police will find it abandoned in some car park somewhere. In the meantime, do you want me to book you a rental, or are you all right with your other vehicles and bikes?"

"No, no, the Porsche and the bike will do fine." James sighed again. "Thanks anyway, Pip."

"Sorry I couldn't be of more help. If there's anything I can do," she urged, "just let me know, okay?"

"Okay. Cheers."

"Bye." Pip set her BlackBerry back on her nightstand, relaxed onto her back, and stared at the ceiling in the dim light for a moment before she began to laugh. Only James.

 

After her meeting at White City ended, and before James' began, Pip searched him out, finally finding him in one of the random rooms used by the researchers when they needed a bit of quiet. He was chatting with one of those researchers, and gave her a little wave as she hovered outside the door. A moment later, he joined her in the hallway.

"Hi, James. Any luck with your car?" she asked.

"No. I rang 9-9-9 this morning after I got off the phone with you--"

"You what? James, that's for emergencies!"

He grimaced. "And so the very surly woman on the other end told me. She didn't seem to care when I explained that to me, my car being stolen _was_ an emergency. At any rate, I ended up ringing the local station, and after being on hold for over half an hour, they finally told me I needed to get a trace code myself, so I rang _them_ up, they gave me the code, which I took down to the coppers, who gave me a crime reference number, which I then had to email to my insurers. I'm starting to think that whoever took the damn Panda can just bloody well keep it!"

Pip couldn't help but chuckle at his tale of woe. "Oh, James, I'm so sorry, what a rotten day you've had. But cheer up, hopefully this means they'll find it soon, and you won't have to deal with the insurance company."

"Unless the car's been torched," he said darkly.

"Way to look on the bright side," Pip said with a grin.

 

Tuesday evening Pip had just got home when her phone rang. She'd been sitting in on meetings with Jeremy all day, ostensibly to take notes and have the master schedule at her fingertips for any query he might have, but it had been a long, slow day, and she was tired and relieved to be home. The thought of more work made her gloomy, and she answered the call a little more shortly than she'd intended. "Yes?"

"Pip? It's James."

She closed her eyes and held in a sigh. "Yes, James, what can I do for you?"

"Just a quick addition to the schedule, if you wouldn't mind?" 

Surprised, she said, "Of course not. Let me just get into it…" She put him on speaker and then switched to James' schedule. "Okay, is it for November or December?"

"Next August."

" _August?_ "

"Yes. Would you please add in a reminder to pay my bloody road tax licence?"

It took Pip a moment, and then her mouth opened. "James. You didn't."

"I did," he said grimly.

"You got towed for having an expired road tax sticker?"

"Essentially, yes."

"But don't they send you reminders and warnings?" she asked incredulously. 

"Yes, they do."

"Ah, I see. And you ignored them?"

James sighed loudly. "I get a lot of post, you know."

"Still, you think they'd at least warn you before they actually tow you."

He was suspiciously silent.

"Oh, James," she said, and she couldn't help but laugh. "What, did the tow truck driver ring your doorbell, but you couldn't be bothered to answer?"

"No," he said, aggrieved. "They clamped the car for three days. And the tow truck only blares a siren. I must not have been home."

"James May, are you telling me that not only did you get multiple reminders and warnings, but your car sat there for three days with a big yellow clamp on it, and the tow truck driver _also_ gives you a chance to get your ass out of the sling as well?" She laughed out loud. "Oh my god, you utterly, utterly deserved to be towed, you know that, don't you?"

James finally, albeit reluctantly, began to chuckle. "I know, I know. But there are so many more interesting things to think about than a sodding tax disc."

Pip shook her head even though he couldn't see her. "You are something else, Mr. May. Perhaps you'd better send me the renewal dates for all your vehicles?"

"Would you mind?" he asked, and there was definite relief in his voice.

She laughed again. "No, I wouldn't mind giving you reminders. Which will turn into nagging when you ignore me the first few times."

"Fair enough," he agreed. "Thanks, Pip."

"On one condition," she suddenly added.

"Oh?" James sounded wary. "What's that?"

"You confess all of this in your next column. Come on, you have to admit, it would make a good story."

James barked a laugh. "I've already started writing it in my head."

 

 

Pip waited patiently off to the side, out of the way of the crew. One group were clustered around Richard, James and Jeremy, discussing how best to proceed with the shoot if the camera dolly couldn’t be fixed, and the rest were frantically attempting to fix the malfunctioning dolly. Pip thought there was an inordinate amount of swearing coming from both groups.

It was her first major location shoot, and she was there simply to observe. Andy had warned her that, as her job function continued to evolve and adapt to what was needed by the presenters, she might or might not be along on many location shoots. So far it had proved to be an awful lot of standing around, punctuated by brief flurries of frenetic activity. It didn’t help that this shoot was tightly shoehorned into the schedule. Normally these segments were filmed well in advance of the studio tapings, but this one had had complications and delays almost from day one, and now the issue with the camera dolly was threatening to derail it again. Pip wondered if they’d ever had to scrap a shoot completely. She didn’t see how they could at this late date, not when it was supposed to air in two weeks. How would they fill the slot in the episode? She made a note to herself on her BlackBerry to ask someone about it later.

Hearing raised voices from the knot of people surrounding the three presenters, Pip strolled in that direction, wondering if there was anything she could do to help. Maybe she could go on a coffee run…

“I’ve bloody well had it!” Richard shouted louder than Pip had ever heard him before. “Either fix the fucking thing, start the shoot without it, or I’m leaving!”

“Hammond--” Jeremy’s voice cut through the hubbub, the note of warning clear.

“I mean it! I’m fucking sick of standing around waiting for people to pull their bloody finger out!”

Pip stopped where she was, suddenly uneasy that things seemed to be headed downhill fast. She could hear James’ voice now, although the words were indistinct, but Richard’s response wasn’t.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” The pitch of his voice rose slightly. “You think I should never have come back! I bloody well know that’s what everyone thinks, that fucking brain damaged Hammond can’t manage the job anymore--” The knot of people surrounding him broke apart and he emerged, red-faced and practically spitting with fury, Jeremy’s hand clamped on his shoulder propelling him away from everyone else.

“Let go of me, you fucking arsing cunting fuck-knuckled scrotum-licking oversized--”

“Cameron!” Jeremy shouted. “Shut the fuck up, Hammond, before I thump you one, you prick. Cameron!” he bellowed again.

Pip jogged over, her stomach tying itself in knots, her throat going dry. She knew what was coming. “Yes, Jeremy?”

He pushed Richard in her direction, glaring down at the man when he whirled as if to take a swing. “Don’t even think about it, you moronic twat. Pip, get him the hell out of here, and don’t come back until he’s calmed the fuck down.” Jeremy strode off without another word.

She desperately wanted to call him back, but didn’t. Instead, she turned to Richard. “Please, please, please just walk with me,” she implored. “That’s all. Just walk.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake! Fine,” Richard ground out, the vein in his temple visibly throbbing. He stormed off, away from all the scattered groups of crew members, and Pip had to hurry to keep up with him.

She felt completely at a loss what to say; after several anxious glances at Richard, she decided that perhaps it wasn’t the time for speech anyway. Much as she wanted to calm and reassure him, the wrong choice of words now would likely only enrage him further.

“Well?” Richard snapped.

Pip shook her head. “I just came to the conclusion that talking was probably a bad idea.”

“Thank _fuck_ for that. At least someone around here uses their goddamned brain.”

She took that as both confirmation and warning, and kept silent.

After about five minutes of stomping along the edge of the car park, Richard fished a packet of cigarettes and a lighter from the pocket of his leather jacket. At Pip’s look of surprise, he muttered, “Grabbed them from James as Clarkson frogmarched me off. Bastard.” His voice turned sharp, defensive. “Look, I don’t smoke often, but if I really want one, I’ll have one!”

Pip raised her hands in an ‘I didn’t say anything’ gesture.

“You can _talk_ , all right? Jesus Christ.” He stopped walking long enough to light a cigarette.

Her lips twitched. “I don’t want you angry with me, too. May I have one of those, please?”

Richard’s head snapped up. “You don’t smoke,” he barked.

She crossed her arms on her chest and mimicked him. “I don’t smoke often, but if I really want one, I’ll have one.”

He rolled his eyes. “Then steal your own,” he said, but most of the heat had gone from his voice. He handed one over, along with the lighter.

Pip allowed a small smile to escape. He was still very cross, but no longer in a towering rage. She lit the cigarette, handed back the lighter, and took a drag. She made a face. “That tastes like shit.”

Richard snorted. “How long has it been?”

“Since my last smoke? Oh, two years, maybe.” She took a long pull, then another, and felt the first tingle of a nicotine buzz after a long time without. “Now if only I had a drink to go with it.”

He studied the lit end of his cigarette. “They are better with a beverage, aren’t they?”

“Definitely.” She took one last drag and, unable to stomach the taste of ashtray any longer, rolled it between pinched fingers until the tobacco fell out and she ground out the burner under her heel. She pocketed the filter.

“Aren’t you a tidy little smoker?”

“They’re not biodegradable, and as this isn’t my property, yes, I pick up after myself.”

Richard turned and resumed walking. He waited until she’d caught up and was keeping pace at his side before quietly saying, “You’re a decent human being, Pip Cameron.”

“Um--thank you,” she said, taken aback. “But not dropping a filter isn’t that big a deal--”

“Don’t be thick. You know damn well that’s not what I meant.”

“I guess I am thick, then. How am I supposed to know that?” she protested.

“Because--” He let out a deep sigh. “Oh, sod it.” Finishing his cigarette, he extinguished it the same way she had done hers, stabbing at the ember with the toe of his Converse before resuming walking.

Pip watched him for a moment, trying to gauge whether it was safe to bring up his earlier outburst. She decided to be brave and give it a try. “You know they’re trying their damnedest to get that dolly working.”

“I know.”

“What happened, then?”

It was a long moment before he answered. “I’m tired. No, not tired. Just...I wasn’t in the best of moods when I arrived, and the delay irked me.”

She bumped his arm with her shoulder. “I think that was a little past ‘irked’, wasn’t it?”

He snorted. “Infuriated, then. I would have been fine if we were actually working, but standing around in the cold doing sod-all yet _again_ was just...too much, suddenly.” They came to a fence-line, and Richard leaned on the metal rail, gazing at the trees in the distance, a frown furrowing his brow.

She leaned beside him and waited.

“I was so certain, in that moment,” he muttered, “that everyone is just waiting for me to fail, to realise that I’m broken and I’ll never be better and I shouldn’t be here.”

“And now, in this moment?” she asked quietly.

“I’m...less certain. But the fear is still there, deep in the back of my mind.”

“I think that’s pretty understandable.” When he stiffened, she clarified her thought. “I think you’re mistaken--no, actually, I _know_ you are. Everyone has seen how much you’ve improved, how hard you’ve worked, and they know you absolutely belong here, that Top Gear would not be the same without you. But I understand with everything you’ve been through, how that fear might creep in on a bad day.”

Richard ran a hand through his hair, then leaned on it, resting his elbow on the fence. “You do, do you?”

She nodded. “I think so. As best I can, not being in your shoes, anyway. You’re trying to judge your recovery from an injury, using the very bit of you that was injured to do the judging. Frankly, I think I’d be more concerned about you if you _didn’t_ harbour fears about your recovery.”

“It’s not just that, though, is it?” he said, and his voice was so low she had to lean closer to hear him. “It was that moment of complete certainty that everyone is watching me, waiting for me to fail. I’ve not felt that paranoid in months, Pip.”

She took a deep breath, let it out slowly. “Oh. I see.”

“It’s one step forward, five steps back.”

“No. It _feels_ like that, but it truly isn’t.” She put her hand on his arm. “Would it help to see one of your doctors? Reassurance from one of them would mean a lot more than my silly words, I’m sure. At least they know what they’re talking about,” she said, trying to raise a smile from him.

Richard picked her hand up off his arm; embarrassed, she attempted to pull it back but he tucked her arm under his and clasped her hand between both of his as he leaned on the fence again. “Your words aren’t silly. But neither am I sure they’re not just your kind-heartedness showing. I have an appointment with my psychiatrist on Friday, so yes, I’ll be discussing this with him.” He gazed down at her hand, his thumb absently rubbing over the base of her thumb.

Pip could feel her cheeks heating; it felt strangely intimate to have her hand enfolded in his. The last time he’d had some difficulties, when he’d had that off at the test track and she had ended up rubbing his back for a little while, he’d said that he found that touch soothing, anchoring. She wondered if simply holding someone’s hand like this had the same effect. She spread her fingers and laced them with his, giving his hand a squeeze.

Richard sighed, and then one corner of his mouth lifted in a wry smile. “I think I’m quite glad you left home to come work with a bunch of idiots.”

She huffed a laugh. “I’m so glad my failure to find my place in the world has given you pleasure.”

“You didn’t fail. You just haven’t found it yet.” He glanced over at her, then away again. “Do you think you might’ve found it here?”

Pip pondered the idea for a moment. “I’m not sure,” she said honestly. “I like where I’ve landed, but whether this is it for life...I don’t know yet. It’s still too new.”

Richard nodded. “Give it time. Although if you make yourself utterly indispensable, as you appear to be set on doing, we might not let you leave. You’ll be stuck with us.”

She smiled. “I can think of worse fates. Probably.”

They were quiet for a few moments, each thinking their own thoughts and Pip’s hand still held in his warm ones, when she began to laugh.

Richard looked at her sideways. “What?”

“I’m almost afraid to ask,” she snickered, “but what was going to come after ‘fuck-knuckled scrotum-licking oversized--’?”

He finally laughed out loud. “Oh god, I don’t know. Something he would have punched me in the face for, undoubtedly.”

“I thought _my_ language was a bit blue at times, but I am definitely learning a lot about the fine art of swearing from the people on this show.”

“We are creative when it comes to sweariness, it’s true,” he chuckled. His smile still lingering, he turned to look over his shoulder at the people scattered about on the tarmac. “Well, I reckon we’d better get back. I’ve got some apologies to make, and hopefully we’ll start filming soon.”

“All right.” She gave his hand one last squeeze and then slid her arm out from underneath his. “Would you like me to run out for coffee or anything?”

“Oh, I brought a Thermos with me, I’d forgotten! Bless you for the reminder,” he said as they headed back towards the crew. “I have enough if you’d like a cup.”

“I’d love one, if you’re sure? It is chilly out here after a while.”

“Positive. Would you mind fetching it whilst I do my grovelling? It’s in my car.”

“Of course. Keys?”

Richard dug the keys to his Porsche out of his pocket and handed them over. “Thanks, mate.”

“No problem.” She started to veer off towards where the vehicles were parked, but stopped at the sound of her name.

“Pip?” Richard said, and waited until she’d turned to look at him. He dropped his head a little, then raised his eyes to meet hers. “Thank you.”

She smiled at him, touched. “You’re very welcome.”

 

An hour later Pip was once again standing off to the side, but this time she was watching Jeremy and Richard filming a sequence with the bodged-together camera dolly.

“Bored yet?” James’ voice startled her.

“Oh! Hello. No, not at all.”

He was skeptical. “Really?”

She chuckled. “Well, okay, maybe a little. I enjoy watching the filming, but the bits in between get a bit dull when almost everyone’s just standing about.”

“Welcome to our world.” He was silent for a moment, and then glanced over at her. “How’s Hammond?”

She cocked her head, considering what to say. “He’s all right now, I think. He said he was in a bad mood this morning, and everything just set him off. He’s a bit worried, though; he said this was the first time in months he’s felt so paranoid.” She met James’ concerned gaze. “Has paranoia been an issue for him?”

“It was,” James said quietly. “He hasn’t said anything so patently ridiculous as that in a long time, though. I thought he’d got past it.”

“So did he.”

“What did you say to him? He’d certainly returned to his normal annoying self by the time he came back.”

Pip smiled. “I didn’t say much. I let him shout and walk it off, we had a smoke--thanks for donating them, by the way--he mentioned feeling paranoid, and then said he’d discuss it with his psychiatrist.”

"I didn't donate them, he _stole_ them, the pikey." James shook his head. “You must have said something. No--” He cut her off as she opened her mouth to explain. “I’m not asking, not at all. That was just a preamble to me saying that whatever it was, I’m glad you said it. He settled down remarkably quickly. Much more so than if I’d been talking him down, at any rate. So on behalf of all of us, thank you.”

Embarrassed, she dug her hands in her pockets and hunched her shoulders. “I really didn’t do much.”

“Nonetheless. I’m glad you were here today.”

She ducked her head. “Me too.”

 

Jeremy stopped her as everyone was leaving at the end of the day. “Well done, Flip.” His words were casual, but his tone was sincere. “I dropped you in the shit, but you saved our collective arses today.”

Pip felt her face heating up. “I didn’t, I just--”

He waved away her words and spoke right over her. “Talk to Andy, because from now on you’ll be coming on location with us. See you on Tuesday.”

He strode off, leaving her standing there with her mouth open.

 

Monday morning Pip poked her head into Andy's office at White City. "Hi, Andy. Any chance you'd have a few minutes for me at some point today? I need to talk to you about something."

He raised an eyebrow. "Tell me those bastards haven't done something to drive you off already."

She laughed. "No, definitely not."

"In that case," he said, checking his watch, "I can give you ten minutes right now. Come on in."

She entered the office and looked around in vain for somewhere to sit. Every flat surface was once again littered with untidy stacks of paper, magazines, dvd cases, and empty film cans, with a thin layer of dust dulling it all. The empty bedpan had, rather worryingly, disappeared.

Andy waved in the direction of a chair. "Just move that rubbish. One of these days I'll get this tip sorted, but for now, at least I know where everything is. What's up, Pip?"

She picked up a pile of magazines and set them on the floor, then took a seat. "You know how you sent me on that location shoot on Friday?"

He leaned back and rested his elbows on the arms of his chair, steepling his fingers in front of him. "Yes. I heard it wasn't entirely smooth sailing."

"Oh, you did hear? Good. So you know that Richard had some trouble?"

He nodded. "I also heard that you handled the situation very well, and had him ready to work as soon as he was needed."

She blushed faintly. "I really didn't do anything. But Jeremy asked me to speak to you, and--well, I'm not sure of the chain of command for something like this. I know he's in charge of a lot of things around here, but _you're_ my boss for Top Gear, and there's also my supervisor in the PA department."

Andy raised an eyebrow. "What did he ask you to do?"

"He said he wants me on location from now on, I assume to help Richard. But is that even feasible?" Her forehead wrinkled. "It would mean a few more hours, although not too many, as some of the work I do now could be done while I'm sitting around on location. And while I'm all for helping out wherever I can...I'm not sure I can make that change based only on his say-so. But I'm not sure if I should be talking to you or my PA supervisor."

He spoke thoughtfully. "You can't change your duties based only on his request, no. And for future reference, any issues at all come to me first, and if necessary the PA department next, just as you've done." He was silent for a minute, then said, "Leave it with me for the moment. I'll discuss it with the appropriate people and see what, if anything, we can manage. All right?"

"Yes," Pip said, relieved to relinquish the dilemma. "Thanks, Andy." She'd be perfectly happy to accompany the presenters anywhere they wished, but she had her doubts about how useful she could actually be. It wasn't likely that Richard would need any assistance at future shoots, let alone the meagre support, however sincere, that she could offer.

 

It was a week later before Andy got back to her. Once again they were both in at White City, and he sent her a text asking her to pop her head in when she had a moment.

Half an hour later, she knocked on his open door. "Hi. Is now a good time?"

"It's fine, come on in." He gestured to the chair she'd sat in last time, which had sprouted another new pile of rubbish. 

She set it aside and took a seat. "What's up?"

Andy sat back, tossing his pen on the desk. "I've spoken with everyone involved and the decision has been made that you'll be present at all location shoots--whether Richard's there or not--for the next six months. Well, five, really, since we've nothing scheduled for January. So until the end of April. At that point we'll reassess and see if we want to continue that, modify it, or scrap it completely. Sound fair?"

Pip nodded. "Absolutely. I have a few questions, though."

He gave her a half-smile. "I should hope so."

"As you know, I don't yet have a car. Does the crew meet at Dunsfold to pick up equipment and then travel together? Would I be able to go with them?"

"On days when Hammond is filming and is driving there himself, he's agreed to pick you up and take you with him, since he lives relatively close to you. On days he's not filming or isn't going from home, yes, the crew can make room for you to go with them from Dunsfold."

Pip was taken aback to learn that she was going to be chauffeured around by Richard, but decided to let it go until she could talk to him about it. "Okay. And what will I be expected to do on location?"

He leaned back with his hands behind his head. "That's a little more complicated, Pip. You're not a psychiatrist, nor a therapist, so I can't ask you to assist if Hammond's having difficulties; that is nowhere in your job description, and you are not responsible for his mental well-being. Is that understood?"

She nodded. "Yes."

Andy sighed. "That being said, he's told me that for whatever reason, in whatever way, you've managed to help him through some rough spots. James has said the same thing. So I am asking you--not ordering, mind--if you're willing to continue to be there for him as best you can."

"Yes, of course," she said, not needing to think it over.

He looked at her consideringly. "Other than that, we'll have to sort it out as we go along. You said you can do some of your regular work while you're on location?"

"I can, yes. I have the master schedule in my phone, I can make calls, and I can bring my laptop along as long as it's not something I need the internet for."

"What about assisting with paperwork, forms and permissions and such?"

She nodded. "Yeah, that would be no problem. As long as there's someone overseeing them to start with, until I learn the ropes."

"Naturally."

"To be honest, Andy, I'd rather be occupied on the location shoots than sitting on my behind doing nothing, so as long as I get a bit of direction, I'm happy to help out in any way I can."

He grinned. "I'm glad you've told me that, but I wouldn't recommend mentioning it to anyone else."

Pip laughed as she rose from the chair. "I suspect that's probably very good advice. One more question for now, then: who can I chat with regarding the upcoming locations, so I can get myself organized?"

"Elena's your best bet, in production."

She nodded. "Excellent, I'll set up a meeting with her. Thanks, Andy. See you at Dunsfold tomorrow?"

"Unless I get hit by a bus or give in and finally murder Clarkson tonight, I'll be there." Andy chuckled and lifted a hand in farewell as Pip left his office, laughing.


End file.
